Miss America and a Mensa member

“There’s a girl in my class that doesn’t believe in anything,” he told me. 

The Bandit and I were snuggling in his bottom bunk after I’d read How The Grinch Stole Christmas.  He was warm and smelled wonderful fresh from his shower.  The light from his alligator nightlight gave just enough light to see his eyes twinkling while he was telling me about his day.

“What do you mean, she doesn’t believe in anything?”  I suspected this was about Santa Claus and I was revving up my fairy tale engines to undo any misdeeds done by rotten know-it-all kids.  “What doesn’t she believe in?”

“Anything.  She doesn’t even believe my name is The Bandit,” he told me incredulously.

“Well that’s just crazy talk.  If you name wasn’t Bandit, what would we call you?  George?  Carl?  Bernard?  None of that sounds right.”  I burrowed in and kissed his warm neck.

“That’s exactly why I’m not marrying her.”

This took me aback.  I wasn’t aware he was planning this far ahead.  “Oh.  I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”  Then curiosity got the better of me.  “What does this little girl look like?”

“She has black hair,” he paused and then added, “but she does have very beautiful eyes.”

Oh, this was interesting.  “What color are they?”

“Like mine,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well, you do have very beautiful eyes.”  I snuggled in closer so I could give him a good hug.  “She sounds very pretty.  Maybe you should reconsider.”

“She’s pretty, that’s for sure, but she’s not smart and pretty’s just not enough for me, Momma.”

If he’s this astute at five, I can’t wait to meet the girl he’s really gonna marry.