The existentialist Six-Year-Old
A week or two ago, The Six-Year-Old caught a rather impressive cold. One night at bedtime, The Six-Year-Old snuffled up to her father. “Daddyo, what can I do to get rid of this cough?”
Daddyo: “I’m afraid the only thing that will get rid of that cough is time.”
Mommyo, anxious for the bedtime process to get underway: “And rest.”
The Six-Year-Old, confusedly: “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Daddyo, supportively: “But rest lets your body do things like fight infections.”
The Six-Year-Old, enlightenedly: “OH! I thought you said ‘dressed.'”
Daddyo: “Yeah. That wouldn’t make any sense.”
The Six-Year-Old: “But it would make more sense than a jump rope.”
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