When Sarah was only waist-high, I once asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up.
"A cleaning lady," she told me. I was still thinking about this, her first choice, with the word, "Why?" unspoken, when she added, "Or the guy who dresses up in black and takes away people's pretty things."
"Do you mean a burglar? Or a jewel thief?" I asked.
"Yes, a jewel thief. I want to be a jewel thief when I grow up." Again, the obvious answer to that is "Why?", when she answered me, without pause. "I want to take away the pretty things from people who have too much and give them to poor people. Like Robin Hood."
To which I said, "Aww... You can be anything you want to be, honey. Just try not to steal."
I was reminding her of this when we were out walking Gonzo this morning, and our talk segued into my telling her about the NYC garbage strike of a few years back, when people desperate to unload their trash wrapped it up in Christmas paper and left these attractively, deceptively packaged piles in their unlocked cars. Sarah thought this was HILARIOUS, and came up with a scenario, during which a family of burglars unwrapped their "gifts."
"Eww... I got dryer sheets and some eggshells. What did you get, Dad?"
"Some cat litter and a half-eaten brownie. Wait. That's not a brownie."
Thank you, Sarah, for making me laugh most days, from when you first could talk, to now, when you have much more to say. I love you, birthday girl.