On the way home from shopping, Thing One—the teenage boy—and I passed a White Castle:
Dad: Hey, lets stop and get a couple dozen sliders?
Thing One: Really? Are you kidding?
Thing One: That’s just mean.
Dad: You wouldn’t want to eat them anyway It’s nine o’clock. You’d get nightmares.
Thing One: I wouldn’t get nightmares. I’d dream about hamburgers with halos and wings and bathed in holy light. Weird. But not a nightmare.