I’m pulling out of the Trader Joe’s parking lot when Rose asks what happened to our shopping cart. “I didn’t see you put it away,” she says.
“I didn’t have to! A nice man was heading into the store, and he took it for me. Wasn’t that kind of him?”
Rose ponders a moment. “Maaaybe,” she says skeptically. “Or maybe he just wanted a way to get your fingerprints.”