My nine-year-old wanders in while I'm working.
"Oh hi, honey. Hey, I have such a headache. Go get me my ibuprofen."
There is a bewildered pause from my child.
"It's right there behind the water bottle," she says.
I start looking afield on my desk. The first three water bottles I see have absolutely no ibuprofen behind them.
My daughter reaches straight in front of me and turns up with the medicine.
Ah. So it seems she meant THAT water bottle. The one, you know, a foot and a half from my face.
"Well who would have ever thought to look so close by?" I protest.
This sterling example of my own personal logic ("I couldn't find it because it was too close to me"--right up there with "I couldn't find it because it was where it was supposed to be") does not impress her as much as I'd hoped.
Very well then. I shall blame it on my headache. "See what kind of shape I'm in?" I demand, naturally proceeding to spill the whole bottle like Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe on a girl's night out.
"Yeah, no offense, that is kinda sad."
From the small landslide of embarrassment, I take two.
