Simon had a rough day recently, possibly a combination of insufficient sleep and dubious nutrition. Whatever it was, he needed some help settling down at bed time. So I sat with him and we talked. My strategy was to distract him from his circumstantial discontent by getting him to contemplate hypothetical questions. What kind of dinosaur would he want as a pet? Is there a kind of Bending he would be good at? He slowly warmed up, but then I stubbed into a surly bit of hilarity.
Me: "So, odds are that you're going to get married eventually - what kind of profession would you be happiest for your spouse to have?"
Simon: "Dad, I'm not getting married."
Me: "Just pretend."
Simon" "No, Dad! I've told you, I'm not getting married - multiple times!"
Me: "Well, you don't have to get married multiple times. Just once."
Simon: "DAD, stop it."
Me: "OK, ok. Imagine that Dictator Trump Jr. has decreed that everybody must get married, so you have to pick somebody. So, what career or skillset would your legally-required partner have?"
Simon [without missing a beat]: "A professional jump-in-lava-and-die-er."
I cracked up for so long, S had to come and see what was up. Then we had to laugh at the idea of Simon wishing his spouse a good first day on the job.