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| If you're an angel and you know it clap your hands [CLAP! CLAP!] if you're an angel and you know it clap your hands [CLAP! CLAP!] if you're and angel and you know it you can make a rock and you can throw it if you're an angel and you know it clap your hands [CLAP! CLAP!] |
Kayla for instance, [an Angelis Toddleris, wingless variety]can not only create a rock with personality (and eyes and smiley mouth) and can generously gift her one-of-a-kind creation to her laughably mortal daddy. But she can also weild it without a care and drop it on daddy's newly laid tile floor without a thought to the damage such an act might do.
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| I am a rock. I smile because I am as dumb as a brick. What happened to you, tile? Will you be my friend? |
There was wailing, knashing of teeth and crying on a biblical scale. And when the angel spoke "Daddy, why you cry?" it did not help. For though she can deign to make a rock and give it (near) life, it seems fixing broken tiles is beneath the notice of a being of light and power. Such mundanities, apparently, are for the hirsuit aging primates with failing vision who laid the damn things in the first place to worry about.
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| What the hell was that? I heard something break! |
What could the crunchy snap of a tile breaking possibly mean to a whispy being of light and power anyway? 'Tis a sound with no meaning.
How could one such as she be concerned about mere squares of hardened clay under foot when there are so many things more worthy of her attention? There are Cheez-It's to be eaten (and dropped between couch cushions), dogs' tails to be pulled, coloring books to be scribbled across, dolls to be undressed and left headless, pennies to be dropped in piggy banks and Disney DVD's about princesses to be watched (relentlessly). Tiles? Pffft.
