As soon as Jesse and I get in the car alone, he starts giving me choices. 

Would you rather have a totally deformed, huge face or a tail?

Would you rather be a deaf paraplegic or in jail for the rest of your life?

If you had to pick one, would you kill me or dad or Kim? And you can’t say you don’t want to answer.  You have to.  Otherwise the world will blow up.

What if someone in the family– who you love as much as you love me and dad– killed dad or me; would you send her to jail or hide her from the police?

Would you rather have a missing leg or go blind every now and then without any warning?

These are the questions my son chooses to force upon me to test my character and good judgment.

Most of them are easy no matter how hard he tries, except the one about the tail?

“I don’t think I’d want a tail,” I said.  “Although I’d hate to have a huge, deformed face. I guess I could always try to hide the tail.”

“You wouldn’t want a tail?  Are you crazy?”

“I think I would find it extremely embarrassing.”

“A tail would be so cool.  You could whip it around and hit people with it.”

“Why would I want to hit people?”
“Oh, I know why you don’t want one.  You’re thinking of a lizard’s tail.  I meant a monkey’s tail.”

“Oh, in that case . . .still no.”

“I can’t believe that. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.  A lot of people wouldn’t want a tail.”
“If they knew they would end up with a huge face they would.”
“Can we move on to another one?”

“Not until you pick the tail.”
“Fine, I’ll take the tail.”
“See- I knew you wanted the tail.”

“Are we done with this one now?” 

“Yup.  No fingers or no nose?”