I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
June 30, 2009
>“Mommy?” Punky asked as she came in the kitchen a few days ago. “Are you a robot in a human suit?”
“What?” I asked distractedly.
“Are you a robot that wears a human suit?” Punky asked again, without a hint of a smile. She paused. “I really don’t like it when you guys keep secrets from me.”
I stopped what I was doing and looked down at her. She was completely serious.
“I’m not a robot,” I said. She looked relieved.
“But how am I be-posed to know for sure if someone’s a robot?” she asked.
“Well, you can do a robot test,” I said. “Go in the den and pull on your sister’s ear. If she says ‘Ow!’ you’ll know she’s human. If she doesn’t react, you’ll know she’s a robot.”
Dutifully, Punky went in the den. I heard a little scuffle between her and her sister.
After a few moments, Punky ran back into the kitchen. “She’s a robot!” she said breathlessly.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I pulled her ear and she said, ‘Thank you!'” Punky said, grinning.
“Oh my goodness,” I said. “That proves it. A human would never say ‘Thank you!’ if someone pulled her ear! Because that wouldn’t make any sense!”
Punky’s eyes grew wide and she ran back into the den.
“Heyyyyy! What are you doing?! Stop it!” I heard her sister laugh.
“I’m trying to find your ‘off’ button!” Punky shouted.
Robot testing has continued here throughout the week.
“Daddy, I need to ask you a question,” Punky said on the phone yesterday. “Do you keep your teeth shut when you talk?” She listened to the receiver, then covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “He said yes!” she whispered to me with concern. “He might be a robot!”
I’m telling a lot of Punky stories lately because the kid has an imagination that won’t quit.
And I don’t want to forget a single moment.
Fortunately, it’s all being stored in the state-of-the-art data processor secretly hidden in my stomach.
Don’t you remember? She never actually tested me for robotic activity….
Mwah ha ha ha ha!!!
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.