Frolicsome-it's the word of the day!

November-new month, new objective. Meet Abigail, we'll be following her for the next three weeks ;)

It's kind of embarrassing how I came up with her. I wanted to use the word of the day andI was listening to the Harry Potter Score for the latest movie (I'm a dork) and one song on it was light, bubbly, and very much like the word of the day-frolicsome! Hope you like it! Feel free to leave comments below.

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Have you had that naughty little feeling one gets when you know you’re doing something wrong but you don’t care because it’s so wonderfully frolicsome? Like terrifying the neighbors annoying four year old or jumping through knee-deep mud puddles just to get the gooiness in your shoes.

Little (well, not so little anymore) Abigail knew what these feelings felt like. Ever since Abigail moved in with her Aunt Trina when she was six that’s all she had ever been. Mischievous. She would do things like dig up the carrots in the garden so the bunnies could get to them better (Abigail didn’t think that the bunnies could squeeze their chubby bunny bottoms through the wire). Or like how she would paint the white fence a rainbow of colors, even if it was only watercolors that she painted with.

Abigail’s antics went so far as to the classroom causing her to be misunderstood by some of her classmates. One day in the first grade, during art class, Abigail and the other students were painting and Miss Prinkle told the class to “Paint their dreams.”

A little boy across from Abigail, Johnny Turner, told the small girl beside Abigail that her giraffe was wrong. The girl had created sloppy lines that ran onto the table in the form of a pink and watery green giraffe munching away on some blueberries. Without missing a beat Abigail said, “They’re her dreams. If Miss Prinkle wanted them to be like the giraffes at the zoo she would have said so!” That afternoon at recess Abigail and the small girl sat in the timeout corner because Johnny Turner was a tattle-tale and blamed both of them. Abigail felt like she hadn’t done anything wrong this time-it was so unfair.

“Thank you,” the small girl had said, handing Abigail the giraffe picture. “My name’s Janie.”

Ever since that day Abigail and Janie had been best friends. Abigail still had the picture of the giraffe in her keepsake box.

Days like Abigail’s childhood were over though; they had been for twenty-one years. So why did she all of a sudden have this feeling of impish playfulness while filing away books at the Rosemary Public Library?