"Do not move my city," Ben warns me as I step into the house. He's standing at the center of a complex of Legos and blocks and blankets held in place with clothespins and…is that a spatula propped up on a tissue box?
"Well, I will not move your city right now," I sigh. "But eventually we will need the living room for, you know, living."
"I know, but I have all the cars parked under the coffee table. It's a garage."
Obviously it's a garage. What else would the coffee table be? Because it's Life with Ben, chapter eleventythousand.
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| The dining room -- don't touch it! |
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| The living room -- don't touch it! |
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| The beach -- don't touch it! |
