I’m tired.
Because we’ve been walking around for hours. 20 minutes? That’s not possible. Time has clearly stopped moving. What does your watch say? Look, the hands aren’t moving! Okay, but wouldn’t the minute hand still be moving, just a little bit?
It’s this place. This place sucks. Why are we even here? When you said we were going to a museum, I assumed it was going to be the one with all the stuffed animals, and the giant whale, and the dinosaur skeletons. That’s what a museum is for: old, dead things. We don’t need to go to a museum to see paintings, we have them in our house. Like the little one of the lighthouse we got in Cape Cod. Or the one that’s in my room, the one the man in the park drew in five minutes that that shows me skating and holding with a giant tennis racket. I love that drawing. All pictures should be like that.
Yes, I remember going to that other museum where they also had paintings on the walls. But those paintings were all clearly of things. Real things. Like people in uniforms and dresses, or lakes with boats, or bowls of fruit. It was also boring, but at least it made sense. Plus that museum had all the suits of armor too, so that kind of made up for the boring time during which you made us look at the pictures. I especially liked the Japanese samurai armor, with the curved swords. I was sad when they didn’t have it one sale at the gift shop, I wonder if you can order it online. How do you know, have you looked?
These paintings are just weird. It’s, like, religion stuff, but you said we aren’t religious, that’s why we don’t go to church. So why are you making me look at pictures that are clearly of Jesus, and all those other God people, having dinner? And you can’t even see the food — the most interesting part — because it’s all pink. And over there, it’s yellow — but it’s the exact same thing! Why do you need two different giant pictures of the same thing? It’s not like socks, where you need the same thing in different colors because you’re going to wear them with different clothes and shoes. The painting doesn’t need to match anything, the walls are white, so they should just pick one color and that should be enough.
Why do I have to be quieter? It’s not like I’m hurting the paintings’ feelings. Yes, I know everyone else is being quiet, but you always ask me, “If Jeffrey jumped off the top of the Empire State Building, would you do it too?” and when I said, “Maybe, because he always has good ideas,” you said, “Wrong answer,” remember? How is it impolite? They’re just looking at paintings, which don’t make sounds, it’s not like they’re trying to watch TV. I get why you want me to keep it down when you’re watching Bridgerton, even if I don’t understand why you’re watching it. Because it’s also boring. I think you just like boring things. Which is fine, but it’s not fair that you want me to also be bored. Speaking of which, can I see your phone? Why not?
I did try reading some of the plaques, about his life, but it just said a bunch of stuff about a factory that I didn’t really understand. Why did he need a factory to make paintings, didn’t he just paint them? Wait, you’re saying this was made from a photo of another person’s painting, and then other people printed them? Then why the heck is this guy even an artist? I have lots of good ideas, could I be an artist? Like when I used the whole bottle of bubble bath to fill the entire guest bathroom with bubbles. You said you thought it was wasteful, but cool. Also, why did somebody from the factory shoot him? Was it because he wasn’t giving them good benefits?
I’m lying down. But what’s it for if it’s not for lying down? It’s too big to sit on and it has no back, lying down is the only way it’s comfortable. I’m not putting my feet on it. I’m not, my feet are on the ground. But why can’t I put my face on it? I’m not going to lick it. I’m not! I’m just resting. For a minute. Until you tell me we can go home.
Cooki!