By Jason M. Rubin
“You can’t do that.”
“What? Of course I can.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Watch me. I’ll do it.”
“No, I mean you can, but…”
“But?”
She gave me an exasperated look.
“But I shouldn’t, is that what you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not right.”
“Not right? What’s right? Is it right we have refugees? Is it right we have racism, sexism, war, cancer?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“So what do you mean?”
“I mean you can’t make s’mores in a microwave. You need a fire.”
Fifteen seconds later, I proved her wrong.
“Only until summer comes,” she said, chewing resentfully.
Ah, sweet Girl Scout nostalgia. So you can, after all, have your s’mores and eat them too — albeit with a sauce of resentment! Keep microwaving, Jason!