“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question,” she said. “And you have to answer.”
“Fair enough,” I smiled. After all, I’d just subjected this child to a long list of questions to which she had to respond.
“What if,” she began, twinkle-eyed, “you had only one cookie, but you needed to share it with fifty kids?”
“Hmm …” I pondered. “That’s a tough one. One cookie only?”
“Yep!” She raised her eyebrows in satisfaction at what had to be my stupefied expression.
“Can I hand out something else instead?” I bargained.
“Nope. One cookie, fifty kids.” The eight-year-old was utterly too pleased with herself.
I smelled a rat but I wasn’t going to show it. She’d earned this after soldiering on through the difficult portions of the testing battery. “I give up.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I don’t see how I can split one cookie between fifty kids.”
“I never said how big the cookie had to be, did I?” she chortled. “If you have a gigantic humongous cookie it would be easy peasy to have everyone share it!”