In the kitchen, my youngest son, four, stands with his back against the stove and his arms stretched across the stove door handle. He leans back and gives me a good looking-over.
"You used to be SOOOO pretty. But now you're not."
I stop what I'm doing, which is slaving over a hot sink of dishes -- or something. Some tedious chore or other thing that improves my child's life.
I raise my eyebrows at him and say, "I'm not pretty anymore? That's really not a very nice thing to say."
He thinks about it for a split-second and then adds, "Well, without your make-up, I mean."
Excellent save, my child.