The windows are open at the autumn air.
You and I are on the floor in your bedroom.
You are playing with your plastic tool bench. The one your cousin, Jackson, lent you. The one that promotes short but enthusiastic play from you.
You stand and walk into the hall. You pull the big black bag of throw pillows out of your way. You reach your curious hand behind the laundry on the hall and grasp a screwdriver.
You return to your room with a triumphant smile.
Turning the toy over, you find the holes concealing the screws from sight and prying child hands.
You insert the screwdriver and do your best to turn the screws loose.
Perhaps we should be purchasing plastic, age-appropriate tools for your Christmas present this year, young craftsman.
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