Commitment

Sometimes playing along with my daughter's imagination requires a great deal of commitment.  As we were pulling up to order from Taco Bell, Kyrstin asked if I could order a pretend bone for her stuffed dog.  I agreed.

TB: Will that be all?
Me: Yes.
Kyrstin: You forgot to order a pretend bone!
TB: It will be $8.25.
Me: May I also have a pretend bone?
TB: What was that?
Me: Nothing, thank you!

When we get up to the window, I "have" to ask again.  I forget why.

Me: My daughter wants to know if you have any pretend bones for her stuffed animal.
TB: No.
Me: Will you just pretend you are giving me a bone?
TB: Oh!  Here you go.

The kids are each sitting in their own row of the van, with Kyrstin farthest back.  So I "hand" the "bone" to my son.

Me: Here, Stefan, hand this back to Kyrstin.
Kyrstin: He's not handing it to me!  (Boohoo, etc.)

I pull forward a little bit.  There are probably 25 ways I could have resolved this, but here's what I decide to do: I "took" it from Stefan, and "threw" it to her.  She caught it and was happy.  The end.