The Memory game, which we used to call Concentration, has emerged as her favorite, so she and I sit on the floor together after dinner many nights and spread the cards out on the floor.
Because she is a kind soul who revels in everyone's success, she likes to help me out when I get stuck. If I hesitate the slightest bit before flipping the card for the match, she points to it and says, "That one." When I flip it for the match, she gets all excited and cheers for me. She has done this for several weeks now, so I've gotten lazy about trying to remember where Mulan or Cinderella or whoever is hiding; Wynn will show me the way.
Yesterday, we were playing again, and, true to form, she steered me to the winning card a couple times. The third time I hesitated, she pointed to a card and said, "That one."
When I flipped it over, it was NOT a match.
I looked up at her in confusion, and she was beaming with the most magnificently mischievous smile ever.
She'd done it on purpose.
"You told me to flip the wrong card!" I said in surprise.
"I know," she giggled.
"Now I won't know if I should flip the card you point to anymore."
"I know," she said again as she tipped over laughing.
She's four years old, and she worked the long con. She strung me along to get me to trust her, and then she pulled the rug out from under me.
We've started referring to her as Little Danny Oceans.