Mrs Pickwick, chatting with Sweet and Feisty over breakfast and tea, vaguely attempting to clear up the mysteries of the universe and proper cooking temperatures, before a second cup of coffee: “When you get married, you usually take your husband’s name.”
Sweet: “That is weird! But, he will be a boy with a boy’s name and I need a girl’s name. Besides, it would be really confusing, having maybe, like, two Georges in one family. A girl George and a boy George, so you could tell them apart, but it would still be confusing if you said “Hey, George!” And I really don’t want a boy’s name.”
Mrs P: “No, the last name. You won’t be Sweet Pickwick anymore. You will still always be Sweet, but you will have the same last name as your husband.”
Feisty, chiming in from the toasting station: “I am never doing that! I will never get married! I don’t want to get over 6.”
Sweet: “Well, Feisty, if you do that you will never grow up and someday Mommy will die and you will be alone in this house.”
Feisty: “No, I will be with Daddy.”
Sweet: “Daddy will die too and there will be no one to cook for you. You will only ever be able to eat toast. No eggs, ever again. Well, I guess you could have eggs. But you won’t know the right temperature for tea.”
Feisty: “Well I will be 7 then.”
Sweet: “Ok, then you will know the right temperature. But still, everyone else you know will be in heaven and you will just be here and you can’t even drive a car or buy a house. Well, I guess you could buy a house because you can have all of Mommy’s money. They could just leave that stuff here for you.”
Feisty: “Well if I get bored I will just die. But I will not grow up.”
Sweet: “You can’t just die, Feisty”
Feisty: “I can just poke myself in the belly and go to heaven. When you poke yourself in the belly that can let your soul out. Your soul is in your belly.”
Sweet: “I don’t know if your soul is in your belly, Feisty.”
Feisty: “I am pretty sure my soul is in my belly. Look.” (pokes belly out for inspection, Sweet still skeptical, hears the timer goes off)
Sweet: “That is the timer for my tea.”
Feisty: “Can I have tea??”
Mrs P: “You can have seconds. Here, now just wait a few minutes for it to steep.”
Sweet: “4 minutes, Mommy. Not just some minutes.”
