I was making a sandwich last Saturday, licking the barbecue sauce off my fingers joyfully, when Mae plopped herself down on the counter beside me. Terrified at the impending argument that would probably follow, I turned to the side.
"Whatcha doin?"
"Making food."
"What kind?"
"The kind you eat."
"Toast?"
"A sandwich."
"That's not a sandwich!"
"Yes it is."
"Sandwiches don't have barbecue sauce."
"Toast doesn't either."
"You're weird."
"I know."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you weird?"
"Because my mom dropped me on my head."
"Your mom must be REALLY strong!!"
"Why?"
"Because you're fat."
Yes. Meet Mae.
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