"Lies?" he gasps.

"There are three kinds of lies," she says solemnly. "Lies, damned lies, and statistics."

He puts a hand on his heart, looking devastated. "I need a moment."

"Take your time," she says magnanimously.

He starts giggling.

"I have the best sister."

"I think you're possibly right."

"I mean, unless I have the best sister, this is also a possibility."

"I'll amend that to 'I think you're possibly both right.'"

"Makes a certain amount of sense."

"I make all the sense!"

"All of it? That's a tall order."

"It's good I'm so right, then."

"Hmm. Gosh. I don't know."

"It's okay, you'll learn."

"Do you know what French for umbrella is?"

"Nope!"

"It's 'parapluie.' Do you know what French for rain is?"

"Also nope."

"It's 'pluie.' And French for 'sun' is 'sol.'"

"—that's why parasol, right. Okay?"

"Well, it is sense and you did not make it."

He giggles. "You caught me."

"I'm good at that."

"I have noticed! Perhaps I should just roll over and admit defeat."