What if...?

So when I was bellyaching back during the days of "why?", how is it that no one warned me that a far more sinister form of interrogation awaited me.

The "what if... ?"

I can usually work out the "why" of things for Owen.  Why do the birdies fly away when I get close to the window?  Why does the steering wheel make the car turn?

But it's all the supposition that's been killing me.  What if the birdie sees me through the window and flies away soooo fast he hits a tree and breaks it in half and the tree falls on a squirrel?  What if the car starts driving all by itself and goes faster and faster and faster and a policeman sees us and I have my seatbelt unbuckled?

Much of the time, he's not just going for a reaction; he really expects an answer.  And don't even think of trying to phone it in.  He'll just step up his game.

A conversation we had in the car today:

O:  What if I ate a tree?

Me:  That wouldn't happen.  Your mouth's too small.

O:  But dinosaurs eat trees.

Me:  Yes, and dinosaurs were bigger than the trees they ate.  You are smaller than a tree.

O:  Well what if I only ate a leaf?

Me:  It wouldn't taste good, but probably nothing would happen.

O:  What if I got sick and my stomach had to be cut open to take the leaf out?

Me:  That wouldn't happen.  If the leaf made you sick you would just throw up.

O:  What if I threw up the leaf all over a car or a house?

Me:  Uhh... I guess I would just take a hose and wash it off.

O:  But what if it dried before you could wash it off?

And at this point I start fishing through my purse for an Imitrex.