Three-year old Mini-Me is messing with me. I know it. Beneath the adorable cherubic face, the big hazel eyes, chubby little cheeks, and hair that is just a little too long, lurks a monster, a diabolical genius bent on my psychological obliteration.
This afternoon I took a gallon jug of homemade apple cider that my father and I had pressed out of the fridge and started to pour myself a glass. He comes toddling in.
“I want some apple cider please.”
“But I just gave you apple juice. Go finish that first.”
“But I want cider!” – He flashes me the lip and doe eyes.
“Okay, fine. Wait. I have an idea. Give me your cup.”
-I pour his juice into a glass and stick it in the refrigerator for later. Then I put cider in his cup and send him on his way.
SECONDS later, he comes toddling back to me, holding his cup.
“Say ‘I have an idea’ and put apple juice in my cup.”
“What? I just gave you juice, your cup is still full.”
“This doesn’t taste like apple juice.”
“No, its cider. You asked for apple cider.”
“But I want apple juice! Say ‘I have an idea’ and put the cider in the glass and I can have juice.”
Wordlessly, confusedly, and utterly beaten….I switched the cider for juice and the little imp went off happily.
There’s no way this kid doesn’t know what he’s doing.