I glanced over at 3-year-old Angela, who had pulled a stool over to the cupboard and was about to dig around in it.
“What do you want, Honey?” I inquired.
“Can I just have a marshmallow?”
“No, Angela, you cannot have a marshmallow. It’s almost supper.”
“Two, then?” she replied.
That’s funny, and it sounds a little familiar. 🙂
I love three-year-olds.
Sounds like something my Eternal Optimist would say!