The wiimote dies. The Boy requests help. Naturally, I call for one of my seven thousand daughters to do it because Allah forbid I go to the trouble of finding new batteries and taking the cover off and replacing the old ones and so on.
The Bean comes right away and cheerfully hooks her brother back up.
She picks up the book she'd been holding and I see that she was about halfway through the last chapter. "Oh, jeez, kiddo, I'm sorry," I say, and for once I mean it. Getting interrupted when you're 97% of the way done with a book isn't cool.
"No problem," she says, and as usual she sounds like she means it.
I shake my head. "Oh, Bean. You are just too impossibly wonderful. We don't deserve you."
I stop and think. "You're a con man, aren't you?" I ask, coming to the only logical conclusion. "A grifter. You're working the long con, right? You're planning on taking us for every penny we're worth? Which, obviously, isn't much, but that's your scheme, isn't it?"
"Well," she replies. "First of all, I just like to make people happy. Secondly, I don't like when people are mad at me. And third, you're my dad."
She picks up her book and heads off for her room to finish reading. I shake my head in wonder.
An hour later, I realize she never actually answered the question.
Caught in the process of artfully luring more unsuspecting marks.