Prologue: Molly normally loves taking baths, but last night she had a little cut on one of her toes and refused to get in the tub. She insisted it would hurt, while I assured her it would not (the cut was seriously microscopic). Here is how things transpired:
Molly: I don't want to take a bath!
Me: Come on. You have to.
Me: Otherwise you'll keep getting dirtier and dirtier and you'll start to smell and people will make fun of you. (is this a good lesson I wonder? I feel like it's not....)
Molly stares at me for more information.
Me: And bugs will start to live on you and we'd have to take you to the doctor.
Molly: No, Daddy could just kill the bugs. (she know who the bug killer is around here!)
Me: He could try, but there would be too many of them (?!!?) and they would bite you all over. And we'd have to take you to the doctor. (nothing like harvesting a healthy fear of the doctor, right?!)
Molly: So, the doctor would get rid of the bugs.
Me: Yes, but then she would see that I don't give you baths and would have to call Child Protective Services and they would take you away from me. And you'd have to live with another family. And I would cry every day.
Molly: (tears off her clothes and runs upstairs to the bathroom) I don't want to live with another family!
Me to an incredulous Jim: Awwww! She likes it here!
And that's how we do it in this household! Of course now I'll no doubt have an even bigger battle to fight the next time she has a doctor's appointment. Whatevs. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
Here's another close call that was stealthily covered up: