Tara: “Do you still get weirded out by me?”
Me: “No. Never.”
Tara: “Yes, you do. Tell the truth. You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”
Tara: “Well, you’ve gotten annoyed by me, right?”
Tara: “Why, thank you! You know, I get weirded out. Like, by the prospect of spoons. And bowls. I mean, how did they come to be? Why do they have the shape they have?”
Me: Silence (after all, it’s still just the morning).
Tara: “Well, mom, don’t get weirded out. This is just me being ‘philosifical.'”