I'm making chili. The Brawn is browsing through the bin of spices when something he sees makes his eyes light up.
"Oh!" he says. "That's where the sprinkles are."
"Well," I respond. "That's where they are now. That's not where they're going to be in a little bit."
I look at him over the top of my glasses.
"No," he says frankly. "I used to eat them, but I don't do that anymore. I used to eat the sprinkles...and the sugar...and the marshmallows, but I've changed."
I am at least a bit skeptical, but I can't help but smile at what's either impressive self-awareness and honesty or at least thoroughly convinced self-delusion and guilelessness.
But he's not quite done. "And not to throw The Golden Weasel under the bus, but she used to do it too."