Five year old Mia looked very seriously at her father's boss, who was sitting at the table for dinner.
"Sir," she said in her most grown up voice. " What do you think of today's politics and stock markets?"
The entire table went silent.
James, halfway through sipping his water, choked.
Rose dropped her fork.
Jay, seated beside Mia, slammed his forehead into the mashed potatoes.
"...Mia," James coughed, wiping his mouth. "Sweetheart. Why are you asking Mr. Ryden about politics?"
Mia turned her head, blinked innocently, then turned back to the guest.
"I read it in a magazine," she said matter-of-factly. "It said grown-ups talk about stocks and politics when they want to be taken seriously."
Mr. Ryden, James's stern, notoriously hard-to-impress boss, stared at her.
Then—unexpectedly—he chuckled. Actually chuckled.
"Well," he said, setting down his glass, "the stock market has been volatile, and the political scene even more so. What are your thoughts, young lady?"
Mia squinted at him. "I think the economy's falling apart because the people in charge keep printing money like it's a coloring book."
Jay made a strangled noise.
Rose tried not to laugh.
Mr. Ryden gave a slow nod. "Insightful. And what about international affairs?"
Mia folded her arms. "They need juice boxes and naps. Everyone's cranky."
That was the moment Mr. Ryden burst into full-on laughter.
James blinked like he'd just seen a miracle. "Mia... you may have saved my job."
Mia looked proud. "You're welcome. Now pass the peas, this grown-up is hungry."
