Little m Long a

OK so it’s Monday—ish. Yeah, I know. It’s Friday and I promised to pick a winner of the book thing from last week. It’s not in the archives here, you have to go to the archives at zoë’s dad to find it. Or you could just take my word for it. It’s there, I promise.

I hosted a book give-away. People entered. Many didn’t. Somebody won. Several didn’t.

I decided that the only fair way to select a winner would be to look over the list of people and pick my favorite. But then I decided that maybe that wouldn’t be fair. So I did the next best thing. I enlisted the assistance of my kids.

If anyone knows anything about fair it’s a group of kids, right? (That’s sarcasm people.) The only thing my kids know about fair is that I’m not. Or so I have been told.

Repeatedly.

Anyway. To the winner. Playground rules. I had each kid, Zoë, Zane and Zia select a name from the hat. After each had selected three I announced the winner as being the poor soul that no one wanted to pick.

Congratulations, Dan! You won a book.

The kids seemed a bit upset and when I asked why Zane said, “What about these people? What do they get?”

“They get the joy of knowing that they were picked. Picked not to win, but picked none the less. So there’s that.”

So what do you think it’s gonna cost to send a book to England?