Me: “Sweet Elizabeth, will you please…”

Elizabeth: “Don’t call me sweet. I’m not sweet.”

Me: “Oh, why aren’t you sweet.”

Elizabeth: “If I was sweet, that would mean that I was like sugar or something. I’m just Elizabeth.”

She’s sweeter than sugar, but I won’t call her sweet again. 

As we sat around the dinner table last night, I was surprised to hear the following:

Elizabeth: “Her mother gave her mashed potato and she was furious.”

Me: “Are you furious?”

Elizabeth: “No, I just don’t like mashed potato and it sounded good.”