#5 has always had a deep-seated need to be right. He’s fond of telling you why you’re wrong- about anything, really, and he’s only eight. I can’t wait to see what happens when he’s a teenager. Although I’m told boys stop talking when they’re teens.
I’ll believe that when I see it.
I’m taking CC to the train this morning and we pass a road sign near our house, the black and yellow ones that show a curve ahead.
#5: That sign is new.
CC: The one that says No Parking Any Time?
#5: No the one with the arrow.
Me: Hey look at that. The one that was there before was all dinked up, but that one is shiny.
#5: No, it’s new.
Me: Shiny new. Did they replace it?
#5: No, it’s a new sign.
Me: New and improved, huh?
Me: But it’s new and shiny, so it’s new and improved, like in a commercial, right?
Me: Isn’t it better than the old one?
Me: Doesn’t that make it improved?
#5: No, it’s new. It’s a new sign.
Me: Let me give you a piece of advice, buddy. Every once in a while, let a woman be right. It will make your life so much easier.
CC: Let me ask you this: would you rather be right, or be happy?
#5: Um. . . What’s the difference?
How about you: Right, or Happy? Or are they the same for you, too?