As I have previously chronicled, my daughter is a capitalist genius.
Proof point numero dos:
Last weekend, my wife was greeted by my daughter who walked into the kitchen with about two dollars in change from who-knows-where. Turns out, she had been selling “ice cream” to the neighborhood passers-by from our front porch. More specifically, imaginary ice cream. So successfully that various rubes had handed over the pocket silver.
(I’ll just avoid the ethical complications with this by considering it ‘paid porch theater’…)
