Conversations with kids

When in my late teens I worked as a camp counselor, I learned that children do like bold colors, big jewellery and anything jangly. So when a friend invited us over to her house for an afternoon in order to introduce us to the newest addition to the family, I decided to put on my peacock-feather earrings and strut for the older girls. They are 6 and 3, and are frikking adorable.

Tintin was great with the newborn, but I prefer them when they start stringing sentences, and so ended up sandwiched between the girls and loving it. I had the 6-year-old blond princess on one side and the cute-as-a-button 3yo tomboy cuddled up on the other, pushing dark bangs out of her eyes and trying to get a word in edgeways. The princess was chattering away, and there's no interrupting the princess. At that moment, she was gushing over my earrings.

Princess: They're great. I'd love earrings like that.
Me: When you're older, I'm sure your mum will let you pierce your ears, and then I'll happily get you a pair, if you still want them.
Princess: What's that made of?
Me: Peacock feathers.
Princess: Like the bird with the big tail?
Me: Exactly.
Princess looked at me quizzically, while the little one sat up in expectation. She knew her sister better, and must have sensed something was brewing. I, obviously, remained clueless.
Princess: So those belonged to a bird?
Me: I guess so.
Princess: Do they cut them off?
Me (growing uneasy): I don't think so.
Princess: They don't?
Me: I really don't think so.
Princess: How do they get them, then? Do they... kill the bird?!
She had tears in her eyes, and the tomboy looked ready to start bawling, too. I panicked.
Me: No no no no! I'm sure they don't! I'm sure the birds just lose the feathers and grow them back.
Princess (suspicious): You're sure?
Me (not a liar): Sweetie, I'm not sure-sure. But I'm absolutely positive nobody would hurt a bird just to get some pretty feathers. I'm totally sure of that. Okay?

I guess she won't want those earrings now. But I've checked, and yes, peacocks molt, and live through the ordeal of providing us silly girls with flashy earrings. Phew. But next time, I'll try to go better prepared into the perilous den of childhood inquisitiveness. Or get an iPhone, I guess.