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"AND I'M JUST SICK OF HIS ATTITUDE AND SICK OF HIS-"
You looked down and saw Sunny with a typewriter, pencil between her ears, and glasses hanging on the edge of her nose.
"Are you writing about what I'm ranting?" You asked the toddler.
"Bava dee ee." She babbled, which meant 'I'm writing a biography.'
You laughed at her response.
"Thanks for letting me rant about my dad, Sun." You sadly smiled at her.
"Eny wim." The toddler replied, which translated to be 'anytime.'
YOU ARE READING
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