We shared the news of the day over a family dinner of asparagus carbonara. I recounted how a coworker's car was broken into over the weekend, which prompted about a hundred questions from Quinn:
"Why did they break into his car?"
"They must've seen something inside that they wanted to steal."
"Why?"
"Some bad people steal things from other people."
"Why?"
"Because they're bad people."
"Were they burglars?"
"Well, yes."
"What did the burglars look like?"
"I don't know, no one saw them."
"Did the police see them?"
"No."
"Were the police sleeping?"
"Well, the police can't be everywhere."
"Did the police catch them?"
"No. The police don't always catch the bad guys."
At this point, I get a sidelong look from my wife. I backtrack hastily. "Um, that is, the police didn't catch them yet. The police will catch the burglars eventually."
Quinn, satisfied, goes back to eating. I look to my wife. "I suppose that's the message I should be sending, right?"
She nods. A few minutes later, Quinn asks why parts of the asparagus are brown. She explains that sometimes the tips of the asparagus are darker than the stem. "And you know," she says, "You know what the best part is about eating asparagus? When you pee, your pee will smell funny."
Quinn is ecstatic. "Will my toots smell too?"
I regard my wife through narrowed eyes. "Oh, like that's the message we should be sending?"
Comments