For good reason, this cheeky wooden stool looks like it's been around for a while.
It has. It's mine from childhood.
As a toddler, the now six-and-a-half-year-old elder lad would say "stoo-dul" rather than "stool". The word has become part of the family lexicon.
I think of this red stool every time I hear one of Aunt Robin's sturdy (if a little worse for wear, not unlike my stool) wooden kitchen chairs being dragged across our tile kitchen floor up to a countertop for some baking project or find one of our own bathroom stools (which are utterly devoid of sassy phrases) some strange place in the house, knowing it has likely been employed for some clandestine purpose not unlike the ones I may or may not have attempted with the aid of my little red "stoo-dul"...
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