Francie and Fiver were playing happily together after church this morning, and Rob and I, in true don't-look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth fashion, left them to their own devices. As we were sitting in the living room, we started to listen to their conversation. It went a little something like this:
Fiver, you get to be the judge of the crime scene.
( Fiver speaking to the toys): I am the JUDGE of this town, and I say you get out. GET OUT!
No Fiver, you are the judge of the crime scene. You say whether someone is guilty or innocent, but you can't just tell people to get out of town.
Um, I'm talking now and the judge says GET OUT.
Crime scenes? Obstreperous judges? The only thing missing is the pack of vigilantes. It's only a matter of time . . .