Man of Extinction

Margot has a sharp wit, even at her young age. Example:

Tonight we ate dinner at a Thai restaurant next to my office. Margot noticed that across the street from the restaurant was a storefront that read "Gentlemen of Distinction" on the sign.

"What kind of store is it?" she inquired.

"A barbershop, for men," I explained. She sat quietly for a moment. She ate a piece of her taro custard dessert.

"What does distinction mean?" she asked.

"It means special, or one of a kind. Not like all of the others," I said in between bites of deliciously spicy lemongrass chicken.

"Like Michael Jackson?" she asked. "He was a man of distinction." (Sidenote: I don't know what her fasctination with Michael Jackson is, but it's been going on for years.)

"Yes, I suppose," I agreed. "But he's a dead man of distinction," I noted irreverently.

Her eyes lit up. "Then he's a man of EXtinction," she pointed out, so obviously pleased with herself.

Is this kid funny or what? I laughed and laughed at that one.