My dear, sweet child...
I realize... that you are three.
I realize that you are playing Lego Star Wars.
I realize that you are not wearing any pants.
And I realize... that as a pantsless, game-playing three-year-old... you are deeply involved in your pantsless playing of games. I realize that nothing else in the world has much, if any, importance to you. I realize that since nothing else truly matters, by all rights I ought to be perfectly willing to drop whatever trivial task I'm doing - reading a book, say, or paying bills - and come running to assist you.
However... and I realize this will come as a shock to you... I am not going to do that. I know this must seem senseless and cruel, and I can only hope that someday, in the weeks or years or decades to come, you will understand and forgive me.
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