Kids: Damn Smart
As part of a dinner party last night, I hung out with a five-year-old. We bonded over Irish dancing, and, by the time dinner was served, I’d made a new friend.
I amused her by figuring out what she’d had for dinner through her belly (it’s a ’skill’ of my mother’s, which now that I’m an adult seems pretty simple: it consists only of knowing what a kid’s eaten and then expressing great surprise upon ‘feeling’ carrots, etc.).
And then we also had this exchange:
“Excuse me. What’s your name again?”
“Brie. It’s a kind of cheese if that helps you remember it.’
“Oh, does anyone call you ‘Cheddar’?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“Do they call you Cheddar because you talk a lot?”
I’m not sure how those two things got connected in her mind, but I’d be hard-pressed to say she’s wrong on the second count.
But she thought Avi was my dad, so just goes to show how smart she is.
Ha! I am a meek and sensitive wallflower.
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