"I have to poo!" she said, coming around the corner.
The toddler stopped in her tracks when she saw me standing there, amidst a sea of saddles laid out for spring cleaning.
"What happened to your arm?" she said, apparently forgetting completely about her intestinal destination.
"I was born with one small arm" I stuttered, after realizing I was not being called upon to locate the whereabouts of the port-a-potty she had just passed in her haste.
"But why do you have a small arm?" she countered.
"I don't know, I just have one big one and one little one" I said with a definite sense of inadequacy.
"But why do you have one little one?"
"I don't know."
"I don't know. Why do you have two arms that are the same size?" I attempted a different approach.
She was not deterred. "Why do you have one little...?"
It was a stalemate.
"Don't you have to poo?" I asked desperately.
She appeared to have forgotten everything from her existence before seeing my little arm.
Thankfully her dad, who had been standing back observing the whole situation, stepped in and redirected her to the portable poo place.
[This has been a peak into one of hundreds of similar encounters.]
Please resume your previous activity, and have a lovely weekend.