“Mommy, will you tell us a story?” My younger daughter, three years old at the time, looked up at me, pleading. Her wispy hair lay fanned across a cotton pillowcase, and her eyes shone glossy in the lamplight. “A story? Sure.” It was a typical bedtime request. My girls like to hear stories from my childhood, so I spin ordinary memories into fairy tales. They think this is fabulous entertainment. “Once upon a time,” I launched into my standard opener, “there was a beautiful princess named Princess Becky. Every week, she went grocery shopping with her mom, Queen Nana. At …
