Conversations with an 8-year-old

Margaret: I want to have my own band someday and I want to sing.

Me: That would be awesome, Mar. Let's make that happen.

Mar: Naw, my vocals are all jacked up.

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Me: Great another strip mall.

Mar: Oh. Do a lot of people not want those because of all the girls and ... you know, their clothes are little and stuff?

Me: (raised eyebrows and thinking, " 'the hell?" then it dawns on me) Oh, honey, it's not a "strip club," it's a "strip mall." Where they have stores and stuff.

Mar: Ooooh. Is that where the strippers buy their stuff?

What exactly did I mean, anyway?

Me: Do you want to have lunch with me at Garden of Eaten (a salad bar restaurant).

Bill: Sure, but by "Garden of Eaten" you mean "Grand International Buffet," right. (Yeah, the buffet with all the deep fried stuff that I can't resist.)

Me: No, I mean let's have salad.

Bill: What? We haven't pigged out in a week.

Me: (incredulously) Uh, we haven't stopped pigging out in more than a week.

Bill: Then it's settled, I meet you at Grand International Buffet at 11.

It's hard to argue with that a man of no logic.