Bless 'im. Li'l Ted, aged 4, waving me off at the door yesterday morning, as I popped out for a Sunday morning pootle into town...
Ted: "Daddy? Will you get me a spiderman at work?"
I: "I'm not going to work, darling." (as I was headed out into the sunshine, I didn't stop to explain the capitalist mechanisms by which effort can be indirectly exchanged for spidermen)
Ted: "But you *are* going to work".
I: "I'm not going to work Ted. Its Sunday, bud. We're going to the park this afternoon..."
Ted: "If you don't want to get me a spiderman, you should just say so."
I: "Ted, if I work hard, they will give me some money (see, falling into his trap here) and I will use part of that money to buy you a spiderman, ok? But not today, because I'm not going to work."
Ted: "You are going to work, Daddy. You're wearing your "office clothes". I'm not stupid."
Office clothes, for Ted are clearly padded shorts, Foska Jersey, LMNH cap, oakley jawbones, and SPDs.
Fair on, though. Not only has he reminded me that the balance of my rides this year have been dominated by the commute, but he's also made me (indirectly) promise that I will buy him a spiderman when I'm next in the office. Which I now am, having commuted here.
Damn.