I found a piece of paper on the dining room table yesterday. It contained a message from Alden. This is what it said.
As far as I could tell, this is what it said:
“I love you, lost meatballs. Bob Baba.”
You will notice that I made several spelling adjustments in an attempt to ease my efforts at interpretation. And yet, I was left perplexed. What meatballs was Alden referring to? Why were they lost? And why did she love them? Meatballs are good, to be sure. And losing them is certainly unfortunate. But love is a rare and singular thing, not to be squandered on meatballs without good reason. And so I asked her for an explanation.
“What does it mean, ‘I love you, lost meatballs?'” I asked.
“No, Papa,” said Alden. “That’s not what it said. It says ‘I love you, POST meatballs.”
She said this with an air of exasperation, as if my interpretation was so off-base as to be unreasonable.
I dared not challenge her again, and yet I am left wondering what to make of the post meatballs. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about Alden’s proclamations of love until her teenage years at least, but perhaps she is precocious in this way.
I suppose there are worse things than loving meatballs, whether lost or post or otherwise.