How's your bed?

It was nearly seven o'clock by the time we finally sat down to dinner. Dutch and I were both bleary-eyed and yawning. A very long week.

"How is your bid coming along?" I asked him.

"It's ... fine," he said, "as far as bids go. We still have a few more properties to evaluate and then we'll send it in."

Suddenly Audrey who was sitting - very auspiciously - at the head of the table piped in: "I-- I have a bed, guys! It's in my room! Wanna see it?"

We looked at each other for a moment in bafflement before realizing that her child's mind had taken my word, "bid," and transformed it into "bed"" - to both of us, a far more enticing topic.

"Oh my," I said to Audrey, leaning forward with sudden interest, imagining myself buried in a bed of down, "Do you like your bed?"

"Yes-I-like-it-very-much!" she chirped, wagging her head from side to side and spearing a bite of fish with her fork. "It's white and it's soft and I go sleepin' in it before I wakin' up in the mornin' an' eatin' my bagel with cream cheese."

I let go my fork with a clatter. "Now that," I said, "sounds like a heavenly idea."