Six-Year-Old Censorship

Ian saw me scribbling away a typically noteworthy quotation from his cumulative treasury, and he figured out very quickly what was going on. He saw me scribbling onto a sheet of white paper, and immediately ordered me not to blog what he had just said, and proceeded to try to take the pen (he got the cap) and the paper.

Foolishly, I put the paper into my pocket; in the back of my mind, it seemed possible that it might disappear abruptly, and within about 20 minutes, I discovered that I was right. Ian made no attempt to hide the fact that he had some sense of what had happened to my notes, and he was quite pleased with himself. At that point, I began a search around the house, particularly looking at Ian's level for my sheet of paper, with a general sense of where he normally goes in the house, and what that might mean in determining a spontaneous stashing-spot for stolen goods. In relatively short time, I found my notes under the bed in the master bedroom, and Ian was very unhappy at that discovery.

Of course, I didn't want to rub it in, but somehow I managed to... I asked Ian rather playfully, as he was storming at this new development, something like, "So Ian, what would like me to blog?"

Ian was typically ambivalent and subtle: "That I hate you doing the blog of what I say."

So here goes:

Ian hates me doing the blog of what he says.

(February 2, 2010)