The things she says...

We were bringing our new kitten, Luther Furbank, home for the first time, and he was clearly nervous to be in the car. I suggested that she could talk to him to make him feel better, so pretty much the WHOLE way home, I heard this: I like your nice head, Luther Furbank. I like your blue eyes Luther Furbank. You're a nice cat Luther Furbank. You have pretty fur Luther Furbank. (I'm not sure why she felt she had to say his name in every sentence, but it was cracking me up.)

Yesterday we were driving around, and we were talking about clothing. It went like this...
Z: I like to wear dresses.
Me: I know.
Z: And I like shirts.
Me: Oh, do you? What do you like to wear them with?
Z: Dresses..
Me: Hm. Do you like to wear skirts?
Z: I like to wear skirts with tank tops.
Me: Ah. Do you like to wear pants?
Z: Yeah, I like to wear them with dresses.
Me: Do you like to wear shorts?
Z: No. I like to wear tank tops with shirts.
Me: Oh. Then what do you wear on the bottom?
Z: [laughter] I'm going to tell you a joke.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Z: I like to wear cream!
Me: Cream?[more laughter.] I'm going to tell you another joke.
Me: Okay.
Z: I like to wear a cream cheese sandwich!

Last weekend, she narrated a story while I typed. It went like this...

I love you. Cinderella didn’t love her sisters and also she didn’t like her stepmother. But her sister loved her stepmother. Then she was very mean to Cinderella and she almost hit Cinderella. And then when she was walking outside she saw Cinderella and she said, “Do your chores” and she said “I already did my chores.” And when Cinderella went outside to play, run and chase leaves and chase butterflies and chase butterflies again and everything she liked to do and not die. But then she didn’t like it because she didn’t like it again. But she laughed! But she didn’t laugh and she did all the things she wanted to do and she went happily off to bed.

And then she did something really naughty, and she did something really naughty again and the stepmother laughed. And then she did something really, really really naughty. And then she stopped being naughty and she went away to go fishing. And she tripped and fell and hurt her knee. And then she fell down into the river. And then she didn’t like it because noone was happy, and then she got to have fun and then she went to go outside and her stepmother wasn’t there but her stepsisters were there. And then she hit her stepsisters. And then she hit her stepmother. And she hit her stepmother so hard that her stepmother died.

[mom] Uh-oh, I don’t like stories about killing or dying.

I like to have stories about dying and killing. And then her stepsisters went off to bed, and the stepmother was worried about the stepsisters, but Cinderella wasn’t. No one loved Cinderella – she was alone. No one except anyone liked her. No one liked her except anyone. And anyone did it again. And Cinderella got a huge pot of peas and no one ate the pot of peas except her stepsisters and her stepmother. But they didn’t like the peas, but they had fun playing with nobody. They had fun eating dinner, and no one seemed to love her.

Pretty butterflies aren’t fairies. Fairies and butterflies aren’t fair. But fair-keys are. No one is happy about that. No one. No one.

(I really like that e.e. cummings-esque section toward the end with the "no one except anyone liked her" thing.)