GC and I were sitting at the dining table. The day’s mail had recently arrived, including this week’s edition of The New Yorker. The cover of the magazine featured a cartoon showing various characters wandering through Union Square. We discussed what each character might be doing, counted the number of boys and girls and birds; generally, the sort of thing you’d do with a four-year old. Grandma entered the room.
“It figures,” she said, “Her father said this would probably happen.”
“What?” I replied. (I reply that a lot to my wife.)
“He figured you’d be reading the New Yorker to her.”