I hate that they sell toys at book fairs.

It drives me nuts.  It makes me the bad guy because I won’t let my daughter get a book with a toy attached.  (I’m so mean.)  When I was kid, I loved the book fair because it meant I got to buy, *insert sarcastic  gasp*, a book.  The next adventure of Trixie Beldon or Island of the Blue Dolphins.  Not some piece of crap silly cat book with a necklace of a cat attached.  This was just after spending 6 dollars at a  Jamba Juice fundraiser for two drinks.  (Yes, I am crabby and cheap.  I think this is well established.)  After I made the “you need to pick a book that is your reading level or we’re going home” ultimatum, she still tried, asking if she could have something “cool”, too.  *sigh*  She picked up a wiggly pen thing to show me what “cool” was.  I told her if she could tell me what it was, then she could have it.  Quite a gamble, I know.

I won.  🙂

And now the girl is sitting on the couch completely absorbed into the world of Flat Stanley. 

 A *insert gasp again* chapter book.   With very few pictures.

Grins.

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