A Morning Squidge

Little Ricky was still rubbing his eyes when he stumbled out of his bedroom onto the landing.

‘Good morning,’ his father whispered.

‘Hello,’ Ricky whispered back.

‘Did you sleep well?’

Ricky nodded.

‘Why are we whispering?’ he asked his father.

‘So we don’t wake up Ricky,’ his father whispered back.

‘Oh,’ Ricky whispered.

Then he frowned, doing his first thinking of the day.   ‘But I’m Ricky,’ he pointed out.

‘Well so you are,’ his father replied, scooping him up to squidge his cheeks and give him a tickle.  ‘Silly old me.’

And Ricky shrieked with delight.

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