The Magic Hand

“What now?”

We were driving a long haul on the highway, and my wife told our youngest daughter to stop slapping herself.

“I’m not,” the nine-year-old said.

“Then who is?”

“My hand.”

My wife laughed and said, “Well, and what’s your hand attached to?”

“Ah, my arm, obviously,” she said, and then resumed her slapping to pass the time.

I looked at my wife and we both agreed that this was going to be a long journey.

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