My Son

On the way home from gymnastics:

Isabella (she’s 7): Daddy, you have a son.

Me: Honey, those allegations were never proven in court. What have you heard?

Iz: No, Daddy. Merlin!

She is talking about our new puppy.

Me: Oh, I see where you are going. Well, Sweetie. He is a dog, not my son.

Iz: Did you pay for him?

Me: Well, he was a rescue dog. So, not really. There were some processing fees, I guess.

Iz: Did you pay for me?

Me: Um, you can’t buy actual people. Nowadays. You were more of a…. Gift. A Surprise Gift. A Gag Gift, really.

Iz: Daaaaaad!

Me: But, we didn’t have a receipt, so we couldn’t take you back.

Iz: Stop that.

(Yes. This is the level of discourse we have in the car.)

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