Here is a typical conversation in our house:
Vision is sitting in the corner, looking at me with big brown eyes. I say, “You know what I’ve concluded?”
Dan says, “What?”
“Vision is a petunia.”
“She is a petunia,” he agrees.
“She’s also a little bit of a McNugget.”
“Oh she’s a McNugget!”
Now I’m getting carried away. “She is also a rhubarb compote.”
“No way,” says Dan. “She is so not a rhubarb compote.”
“She is so!”
“Nuh-uh.”
I scowl. “Well, she’s definitely an enchilada.”
“Hmm.”
“Vision, are you an enchilada?”
Vision says nothing. I bend down to her eye level and ask, “Who’s an enchilada?” She stares at me, wide-eyed. “Is it you? IS IT YOU?”
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” Vision shrieks. She rolls over and covers her face with her paws. Then she flips upside-down and I rub her tummy.
“See? She’s not an enchilada.” Dan considers her. “Maybe a chimichanga.”