At a restaurant, we were feeding the grandkids. Hank was having corn dogs made from cocktail weenies.

For those not immersed in American culture: Cocktail weenies are basically small hotdogs about an inch long. If you’ve a better definition, please don’t bother telling anyone, no one cares. A corn dog is a hot dog coated with corn meal and deep fried. <shudder>

Hank was picking off the corn meal, throwing the corn meal on the floor, and then eating the hotdog.

In an effort to minimize the disgusting mess on the floor, I started cutting off the corn meal coating and leaving the hotdog for Hank. I left the discarded corn meal on the far side of Hank’s plate. Hank then shoveled down the mini hotdogs.

After cutting the first couple of corn dogs, I got fairly adept at extracting the hotdogs and leaving behind an intact corn meal shell that looked like it still had a hotdog inside it.

After finishing the hotdog bits, Hank reached for one of the intact-looking corn meal shells. As he tried to grasp one of the corn dogs, his fingers went through the corn meal shell and grasped nothing.

His face held a surprised expression as if thinking “Zounds! What trickery is this?”

Cool! I outsmarted a two year old.