perfidy

I'm not one to make a habit of endless posts about the cuteness of my children. I mean, they are cute and all. I just don't want to belabor the point. But yesterday, the boy and I were in the car and had some interesting conversation.

the boy: There are good aliens, and bad aliens.
me: really?
the boy: Yes! And if the bad aliens come, we'll be in trouble.
me: I should think so.
the boy: But when the bad aliens come, the good aliens will come and fight them.
me: That's reassuring. What will we do when this happens?
the boy: Well, if our car breaks down and we get a flat tire, the good aliens will help us fix it
me: An Alien Auto Club?
the boy: Yes! That's true.

A little later, we drove by an accident scene, with four or five fire trucks, plus an assortment of police cars, ambulances and the like. Couldn't see what actually caused the ruckus. That led to this:

the boy: Can you sing the fire truck rescue song?
me: I don't know that one. How does it go?
the boy: [tuneless hum, then...] Why are you up on that house, anyway?

Always a good question. But then back to the aliens:

the boy: Where are the aliens, Daddy?
me: if there are aliens, they're probably on a planet around another star. Or in Hollywood.
the boy: They're on their way here.
me: Okay. When will they get here.
the boy: They'll get here tomorrow.
me: We should get ready then.
the boy: Yeah!

That led into a long rambling discussion about the difference between talking and non-talking, and good and bad aliens. He broke them down into the four possible combinations, and - I think - analyzed our proper reaction to the presence of each. But it's hard to tell.