Daughter: Can you bring me back some pasta?

Me: What?

Once upon a time she was five, the epitome of cute..play and pasta were her world..

Daughter: Sorry, did I stutter?

No longer five..no longer cute..

Me: I’m going to Spain.

Daughter: And your point is?

Me: Spain..the land of Paella, Patatas Bravas, Tortilla Espanola.

Daughter: You’ve lost me.

Me: Churros, Turron..

Daughter: I’d like some pasta…preferably cooked.

Just plain bizarre..

Daughter: A generous serving, with plenty of sauce, would be appreciated.

Me: I’m pretty sure they’d confiscate it at the airport.

Daughter: Have you tried before?

Me: Of course I haven’t.

Daughter: So how do you know?

There simply are no words..