A Cynic is Born

Zane and John were weeding our little rock "garden" by the front porch. Helpfully, Zane was selecting the pretty rocks and setting them aside. I came over to see what was going on and the following conversation tool place:

Zane: Look at all the pretty rocks! What kind of rocks are these?

Me: Well, actually, those are pieces of glass. (decorative, non-sharp-edged glass - don't call CPS)

Zane: No they're not.

Me: Yep. That's glass.

Zane: No it's not. Daddy! Mommy says that those rocks are glass.

It doesn't really matter what happened after that. Suffice it to say that my skepticism for all things (which, no doubt, was passed on to me through both 'nature' and 'nurture' and I have worn like a badge my whole life) has bitten me in the ass.

Yeah - laugh it up mom and dad.