“I like baby carrots,” said our pet rabbit.
“I know you like them, but why would someone send them?” We’re having enough trouble with mysterious deliveries.
“Because I like them,” he said again, obviously upset that I wasn’t getting this point. “I look like I’m big when I eat the tiny carrots!”
“You are big.” He’s a Flemish giant, which as a breed grows to Mark Trail-esque proportions. “You’re bigger than I was through third grade.”
He nodded, “And I didn’t even go to third grading! That’s how big I am!”
“Where did they come from, though?”
And our rabbit looked at me as if disappointed I was so dense. “They’re cut from full-size carrots to just look like baby carrots. Don’t you know how the world works?”
“Why would the world arrange somebody to send you baby carrots?”
“Obviously the world knows I like them!”
“Because it’s true! It couldn’t know that I don’t like baby carrots, because that isn’t true, and if you actually know something then it has to be a true thing or else you don’t actually know it.”
I like his reasoning, but I feel like there’s something missing.