That reminds me of a story my dad used to tell us every night when we'd beg for a masterpiece and he had only enough energy for drivel. It went like this:
"I'll tell you a story, of Reevy-o-norie. And now, my story's begun...
I'll tell you another, about his brother. And now, my story is done."
We hated those two lines more than a bowl full of slobbery beef stew. The moment we heard the first refrain, we would GROAN AND HOWL~"DAAAAADDDDDD!!!!!! NOOOOOOO FAAAAAAIIIIRRRRR!!! THAT'S NOT A STORY! WE HAAAAAAAAATE THAT STORY! TELL US A REAL ONE!"
And he usually would. Bless his exhausted heart. He'd tug at his tie and we'd scootch over, making room for the author. A favorite? Izoldi. She was a witch. She lived under the bed. I have a dazzling Halloween witch collection, and my very first acquisition was an hysterical paper mache hag. She has twiddling pointy fingers, painted red nails, giant gold hoop earrings, a buck toothed smile and about 18 strands of black hay hair. She's beautiful. And she's my Izoldi.
Another was the story of Cinderella and her two "sisty uglers."
BAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! (We would HOWL with laughter!) "DAD! THAT'S NOT HOW YOU SAY IT! SAY IT AGAIN!" And he'd tell us the sisty ugler's names~Anastasia and Drucilla ( I thought he said Drizilla, which was even funnier!)~two names that were said to be common in days of long ago and far away, but were a SCREAM to children of the 70's. He'd say them with a grimace and a nasal tone that would throw us over the edge of sanity!
Two little girls, dressed in pink and blue penoir sets, arms thrown across our foreheads as we lay in our white and gold princess canopy bed. Tears streaming past our ears, into our hair and settling on our pillows as we stared at the ceiling and listened with joy and rapture to our DAD...THE FUNNIEST MAN IN THE WORLD!
And he was.
I am the "Reevy" to my father's "Izoldi."
And now my story is done.