Dear Ranger McNofun,
You assured me there were no silly questions, so I asked if you had any “JR Beaver Jr. Ranger” buttons. You said, “Yes,” and then smugly tucked your hands behind your back, making your elbows point out and said, “But they’re for six to twelve year olds.” I offered to give you a dollar. You smirked and grunted out a noise in a feeble attempt to feign amusement, but you refused to give me the button.
I still don’t understand it, Ranger.
Fine, you don’t want to give the buttons to every random twenty-somethings who ask you for one, but how many of us actually ask? And I offered you a dollar that you could’ve pocketed or put toward a bottle of fox-pelt cleaner or polish for your badge. I’m not a little kid who was going to lose the button after a week; I’m old enough to decide that I wanted the button to go with the others on my purse (not to mention old enough to pay for our campsite with my credit card). What do you do when kids look five and a half? Do you ask their parents for their birth certificate? Do you take a sample and count the kids’ rings? What about the day after a kids’ thirteenth birthday? I mean, I’m not a whole lot taller now than at age twelve and I’m way less likely to stab my sister with the pin for my own amusement. I could’ve tried to convince some kids to grab an extra one for me, but there is such thing as a creepy question. However, I will never be like you, Ranger, and be morally offended by a silly question.