The lass has been on a roll where she likes to nitpick things to the extreme. I suppose she thinks it makes her look clever. Mostly, it comes off as annoying.
So today, she comes home with a birthday invitation, which she was excited about. Then she noticed that the inviter had misspelled her name.
“Dad, look,” she said. “It’s for someone else because my name isn’t spelled like this…” She gestured to the invitation with a smile on her face.
Rather than shrugging her off, I decided to play along, but not like she really wanted.
“I guess that means you’ll have to return it,” I told her.
“Huh?” Her brow was furrowed and she had a confused look on her face. She clearly hadn’t expected me to take her quite so literally.
With her off balance, I pressed my advantage.
“Well, like you said that’s not how your name is spelled so that invitation wasn’t meant for you. You’ll have to return it so it can be given to whom it really belongs.” I stated this all as matter-of-factly as I could, making a simple logical argument based on her own words.
“But it… it’s meant for me,” she stammered.
“No it’s not,” I replied. “It’s meant for someone else with a different name. Like you said, the name on the invitation is not spelled like your name is.” I continued with the game.
“Dad, the invitation was in my mailbox at school,” she stated flatly. “The teacher put it there.” Apparently, in her world, teachers don’t make mistakes.
Silly girl, such a simple logical error.
“Just because it was in your mailbox doesn’t mean it was meant for you. The teacher obviously made a mistake,” I replied. “Like I said, you’ll just have to return it so the proper person can be invited. Just save it for Monday and you can bring it back then.” I was trying to twist the knife a bit, just to see what would happen.
“Alright Dad, that’s enough.” She was talking like an adult now. At least, she was trying to. “Obviously, it was meant for me, but she just didn’t know how to spell my name. OK? Can I go?” She had her hand on her hips and her head was cocked over to the side. I suppose this was her I’m-not-playing-anymore pose.
Oh well, game over. She wasn’t having it anymore. But it was fun while it had lasted. I guess a birthday party invitation is not the sort of thing a 6 year-old messes around with.