She looks at my shirt, which is black with white elongated dots:
She takes a long, beautiful finger (she totally has my Grandma Ruth's elegant hands) and traces the dots.
"What are those, Mama?"
"They're dots."
"No, they're not."
"They're not?"
"No. They not dots."
"What are they?"
She thinks for a moment.
"They carrots."*
"Hmm. I see."
She nods, and then turns back to her milk cup and her show.
Okay, then.
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*Pronounced "cawwots" for full cuteness effect.
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