Well, It Usually Works
My nineteen year old daughter is home from university in another city, and has popped in for a visit. Harry, the social and curious animal that he is, races over to check her out. "What's your name?" "Haley." "What's your name?" "My name is Haley." "What's your name?" Harry can see he's on to a good thing here. The question has riveted her attention, so why quit with a good thing? Haley is too experienced to be ruffled by this, though, and responds with a warm smile. "You know my name. I just told you. What's my name?" "Haley." "That's right. And what's your name?" "Harry." "Hello, Harry. Nice to meet you." The niceties accomplished, she turns to continue our conversation, but there is no way young Harry will give up the conversational ball and her attention so easily as that. He starts his next sentence using the word most trusted by three-year-olds to keep both ball and attention firmly in their control: "Why..." You can see the wheels turning: 'Okay, so far, so good. She's still looking at me. Only, what comes next? Oh! Brainstorm!': "... is your name Haley?" Haley laughs out loud. "Well, that's a silly question," she chuckles. "Why is your name Harry?" Harry's a bit miffed at being laughed at, and he doesn't have a good response. He thinks it over for a minute, then decides his dignity is best served by absenting himself. As he leaves the room, he tosses over his shoulder, his voice rich with disdain: "That's a silly question, Haley."