Scenes from My Life (Or Was it Woody Allen's Life?)

Me:  Hey Grendel [I say to my youngest daughter as she lounges on my unmade bed wearing a tissue-box  monster head], why don’t you give me a hand with the making of this bed?  [Insert wheedling smile.]

Rachel:  Grendel?  Don’t you mean Randall [from Monsters Inc]?

Me:  No, of course I don’t mean Randall.  I am referring to the Monster in Beowulf?

Rachel:  Who?

Me:  Beowulf.  Think Nordic Superhero without God status.

Rachel:  Never heard of him.  [Continuing to wear monstrous apparatus.]

Lydia:  It’s only the oldest piece of literature. 

Rachel:  [Shrug]

Me:  Well [rubbing hands with enthusiasm], I guess it’s time you meet Beowulf and Grendel!

Rachel:  [Rolling eyes] *sigh*

I quickly descend the stairs, heft Norton’s Anthology of English Literature, Volume 1 from the shelf and hand it over to Rachel.  (I say “heft” as it weighs in at 2500+ pages – thankfully the scholarly publishers chose onionskin.)

Rachel:  [Eyes bulging as she reluctantly takes the tome]  Is this a collection of books?

Me:  What?  [Peal of laughter]  Yes!  Oh yes, you only have to read one part.  [Carefully omitting any reference to the word “saga.”]  It’s exciting; you’ll like it.  It’s kind of like Thor meets The Hulk – not as friends, though.  [Wide smile . . .  carried out to improve veracity of statement.]

Rachel shrugs (still wearing the headgear of aforementioned dragon-like creature) and takes the book to her room.

Me:  [To self]  Motivation courtesy of Superheroes?  Hhhhmmmmm . . . [Racks brain for a Chaucer equivalent in the Avenger World.]  I wonder if Nick Fury ever . . .