I took a walk with a three year old

I’ll tell you a story, she said.

Ok. Tell it.

Corduroy Loses A Button

Oh.  What button did he lose?

He lost the button on his pants.

Did his pants fall down?

She emits a short ironic laugh as if to say, ‘this is one dumb grown up I’m saddled with.’

No, no. He didn’t have pants.  They were overalls.

Oh, so he still had one button holding them on.

She had not considered this and was annoyed with me for bringing it up.

He lost a button, she said emphatically. She didn’t want me dragging in unnecessary baggage into her story.

Ok.

Then he went up the escalator and saw two chairs and a fine little bed. Then he got in the bed and found his button.

Oh, he found the button in the bed.

Yes.  And the overalls were green.  Dark green.

Was he happy?

No. It wasn’t his button.
She stretched out her arms and turned her palms up to dramatize this dilemma

Were there two lost buttons?

No, no. Just one button.  One.

Well who’s button did he find?

I don’t know. 

By now she was exasperated and regretted telling me anything.

Ok, I said.

She was silent for a long time.

Is that the end of the story?

Yes.

Ok then, let’s sit on this bench and have our snack.

Twenty minutes later, fortified with orange and raisins, she said. Lisa sewed the button on his pants.

That’s nice, I said.   

I may be one dumb grown up but I know when to shut up.