Toilet(Marla) “No,” said Julia, very firmly. “You are not going to write your narrative about seeing a dirty toilet.”

“C’mon, Mom!” said Evan. “It’d be hilarious. I could just start with, ‘I was having a very normal day, no wait, a very regular day, get it, Mom? Anyway, a very regular day and I walked into the bathroom and saw -’”

“No,” Julia interrupted.

“Or wait, it could be from the perspective of the toilet! I could start with, ‘In the past I was a pristine piece of porcelain.’ Ms. Maley will like the alliteration there.”

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?” said Julia.

“I do. And so do the chicks at school. And I suspect that some of the teachers do too.” He grinned, knowing very well that his charming dimples were on full display.

Julia nodded slowly. “Mmhmm. Well, Mr. Humble, you are not going to write about seeing a dirty toilet. Your teacher will not appreciate that.”

“I think it’s a great idea. Probably the best in the class. Imagine that, Mom. Your son writing the best paper in the class.”

“Tell you what. You know that the cleaning supplies for the bathroom are in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. So, you write your narrative about your personal experience with cleaning a toilet. THAT will be a great paper.” It was her turn to smile.

“No way! That’s no fun.” said Evan.

“That’s the deal. If you’re writing about a dirty toilet, you can write about cleaning it, not just seeing it.”

He frowned. “Aw, Mom. You take the fun out of everything.”

“That’s what I’m for. I am a fun killer. I kill fun each and every day. Because I love you.”

“All right. You win.”

“You’re going to clean the toilet?” Julia asked excitedly, pretending to misunderstand.

“Nope. I’ll write about something else.” He sighed an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I’ll go to my room and just sit and think until another idea comes to me.”

“Great! I have full faith in your ability to write a fabulous paper!” said Julia.

Evan sat down at his desk and thought. Then a smile spread over his face as he began: "I recently had an interesting conversation with my mom."

His phone pinged to tell him he had a text message. It was from his mom.

“If you’re planning to write about the conversation we just had, that still counts as writing about a toilet, so you still have to clean it.”

'How does she do it?' Evan thought to himself.

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