S: Daddy, where's Rocko?
Me: Who's Rocko?
S: He's my rock. I can't find him!
Me: You're sleeping with a rock?
S: Yes.
Me: Why?
S: Because I love him.
Me: What do you love about Rocko?
S: I love his little black cliffs.
Me: Little black cliffs? Do you mean ridges?
S: Yes, he has little black cliffs.
Me: (I find an ugly black rock in her sheets.) Is this Rocko?
S: Yes! Thank you! (She strokes her piece of gravel ever so tenderly.) I missed you, Rocko! I love you sooo much!...
(All I can say, Rocko, is if you hurt my daughter, I'll pulverize you...)
