Sebastian is my eleven-year-old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people. 

Last summer, we visited Rome as a family. It is safe to say that during that trip, Sebastian probably ate his weight in pizza. On occasion, his mother would try to negotiate a sliver away from him, which was usually met with considerable resistance.

On one such attempt, Sebastian offered the concession that his mother could have some of the crust of the latest wood-fired pizza on the plate in front of him. She readily accepted (she loves pizza crust).

My wife: “Why am I getting all the burnt crust?”

Sebastian: “Because I don’t want them.”