Interrogation

You know you have a two year-old in the house when you're required to have torturous conversations like these:

Molly (pointing to random illustration of a father in a picture book): "What's his name?"

Me: "Hmm? Um, I don't know his name."

Molly: "What's his name????"

Me: "I don't really know. It doesn't actually say..."

Molly: "WHAT'S HIS NAME???"

Me: "Harold, okay? Let's say his name is Harold."

Molly, momentarily mollified: "Oh, so his name is Harold? How old is Harold?"

Me: "I'm not sure..."

Molly: "HOW OLD IS HAROLD???"

Me: "Um...I think he's 35."

Molly: "Oh. How old is his nose?"

Me: "35."

Molly: "How old is his chin?"

Me: "35."

Molly: "How old is his elbow?"

Me: "35."

Molly: "How old is his UDDER elbow?"

Me: "35."

Molly: "How old is his bellybutton?"

Me: "35."

Molly: "How old are his eyelashes?"

Me: "THIRTY FIVE!! EVERYTHING ON HIS BODY IS 35!!"

I've been broken.