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This month’s awesome wedding reading is Rosie and Michael by Judith Viorst. It works best read by two people, one to take on each voice. I love it!

Rosie is my friend. She likes me when I’m dopey and not just when I’m smart. I worry a lot about pythons, and she understands. My toes point in and my shoulders droop, and there’s hair growing out of my ears. But Rosie says I look good. She is my friend.

 

Michael is my friend. He likes me when I’m grouchy and not just when I’m nice. I worry a lot about werewolves, and he understands. There’s freckles growing all over me, except on my eyeballs and teeth. But Michael says I look good. He is my friend.

 

When my parakeet died, I called Rosie. When my bike got swiped, I called Rosie. When I cut my head and the blood came gushing out, as soon as the blood stopped gushing, I called Rosie. She is my friend.

 

When my dog ran away, I called Michael. When my bike got swiped, I called Michael. When I broke my wrist and the bone was sticking out, as soon as they stuck it back in, I called Michael. He is my friend.

 

It wouldn’t matter if two billion people said she robbed a bank, if Rosie told me she didn’t, I’d believe her.

 

Even though his fingerprints were found all over the dagger, if Michael said, “I’m innocent,” I’d believe him.

 

If Rosie told me a secret and people hit me and bit me, I wouldn’t tell what Rosie’s secret was. And then if people twisted my arm and kicked me in the shins, I still wouldn’t tell what Rosie’s secret was. And then if people said, “Speak up, or we’ll throw you in this quicksand,” Rosie would forgive me for telling her secret.

 

If Michael told me a secret and people clonked me and bopped me, I wouldn’t tell what Michael’s secret was. And then if people bent back my fingers and wrestled me to the ground, I still wouldn’t tell what Michael’s secret was. And then if people said, “Speak up, or we’ll feed you to these piranhas,” Michael would forgive me for telling his secret.

 

Just because I call her a gorilla face, doesn’t mean that Rosie’s not my friend.

 

Just because I call him a banana head, doesn’t mean that Michael’s not my friend.

 

Sometimes I get on the diving board and decide that I’ve changed my mind. But Rosie wouldn’t laugh. She is my friend.

 

Sometimes I’m climbing up a tree and decide that I’d rather climb down. But Michael wouldn’t laugh. He is my friend.

 

Rosie is my friend. When she honest and truly wanted to know if she walked like a kangaroo, I honestly told her.

 

Michael is my friend. When he honest and truly wanted to know if his feet were smelling stinky, I honestly told him.

 

Rosie would try to save me if there was a tidal wave. She’d hunt for me if kidnappers stole me away. And if I was never found again, she could have my Instamatic. She is my friend.

 

Michael would try to save me if a lion attacked. He’d catch me if I jumped from a burning house. And if by mistake he missed the catch, he could have my stamp collection. He is my friend.

 

I’d never get my tonsils out if Rosie didn’t too.

 

I’d never move to China without Michael.

 

I’d give her my last piece of chalk.

 

I’d give him my last Chiclet.

 

Rosie is…

 

Michael is…

 

[TOGETHER] My friend.