So my three-year-old daughter bounced into my lap the other day.
“I’m Piglet!” she cried cheerfully.
“You’re Piglet?”
“Uh-huh!”
“You’ll feel differently about that when you’re older.”
“No I won’t.”
Yes, I do believe she will.
The View from the Foothills
A tiny principality in the Commonwealth of Letters
The View from the Foothills 
Actually, all of the women I know seem to think that they are Piglet, in one form or another.
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Perhaps so, but I bet they aren’t cheerful about it.
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Perhaps so, but I bet they aren’t cheerful about it.
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