You may remember my friend Stacia’s son Beck who is seen here at my house last week after grabbing a fruit rollup out of a container I keep on the countertop for my girls.

“Hey,” I said to him before he ripped open the package. “You have something to ask me?”

He looked around to see who else was in the room. “You’re talking to me?” he asked.

“I am talking to you.”

“What? I’m supposed to ask you something?”

“Did I say you could have a fruit rollup?” I answered with a question.

“But they’re sitting right there. Why wouldn’t you want me to have one when they’re sitting right there?” I could see his reasoning.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to ask me.”

“Okay, Heather, can I have a fruit rollup?” he asked, but he didn’t even finish the question before ripping open the package.

I held my finger up in the air to indicate that he should cease moving forward with this line of activity and accompanied it with, “Nuh uh uh uh…”

He had no idea what was going on. “Why are you looking at me? I asked you AND THEY ARE SITTING RIGHT THERE.”

“Beck, you make a lot of sense. They are on the countertop so that people can eat them. But you forgot one word.”

He rolled his eyes to indicate that he couldn’t believe that I was even more old-fashioned than his grandfather and said, “Please.” It sounded more like, “UGH.”

His brother is being raised by the same parents and couldn’t be more cordial or polite. Given my history with kids I expect his brother to tell me at some point, “My brother is scared of you.”