My mother tells a story about a little boy at a family barbecue. He is a picky eater and a bit of a scamp so he is placed next to his grandmother, so that she can keep an eye on him while his mother is busy.
"What's this, Two Mommy?" he asks his grandmother.
"It is polite to just eat what you are served," she replies.
The little boy examines his food carefully and then tugs on his grandmother's sleeve. "What are those specks, Two Mommy?"
His grandmother is busy visiting with other family members and is distracted. "It is probably cinnamon," she replies.
" Two Mommy?" , he asks with a worried look. "Does cinnamon gots legs?"