My mother used to take photographs of my brother and me and our friends, asleep. Back in the 80s, this meant occasionally waking up to the sound of the click, so that as many pictures as there are of us in repose, are those in which we're squinting at the camera, hair rumpled, our expressions asking, "Wha--?"
It's nearly 5:30 in the evening. Tonight, I will take my daughter and her friend, who kinda/sorta lives with us, to my favorite restaurant. They have dubbed each other "Detective ____" and "Detective _____." Not long ago they purchased children's walkie-talkies, to covertly relay important messages. The last time I took them to dinner, it was on-assignment; they wrote copious notes for me under the table:
Nice amount of garlic on the bread
Broth with shrimp tastes like bleach smells
Mirrors at the end of booths -- nice touch for the vain clientele
Waiter with the glasses set the greens pasta down where no one was sitting and then tried to walk away... I'm sorry, is that really what you're paid to do?
I am on-assignment tonight, as well, though it's looser, I will not need a pad, but will let them play reviewers-in-training because they so enjoy it.