Tony Woodlief | Author

Smarty Pants

I’m painting in my new writer’s haven (read: small corner office in our barn). Isaac is standing right beside me, which is apparently his favorite place.

“Careful Dad, that’s a wasp.”

“It’s a spider, Isaac.”

“No it isn’t. It’s a little wasp.”

“It’s a spider.”


“Son, I’ve been alive for 40 years now, and I’ve seen my share of spiders and wasps. It’s a spider.”

“Dad, I’ve seen tons of wasps. Don’t tell me. It’s a wasp.”

Sigh. “Fine.”

He puts a protective little hand on my arm. “Be careful. He might sting you.”

I always figured they’d realize soon enough that they’re smarter than me, but I always thought my age advantage would carry some weight with them at least into their teenage years. Oh well.

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