We usually keep cans of cheap beer in the pantry area, for BBQ'd chicken. (No, we don't drink it, the chickens get a beercan enema while they're in the BBQ.) Blacksmith came home from picking RN up from work, and I hear from the entryway "Who drank a beer?" He was using That Tone Of Voice, since we both know Who Did It. Outside the cottage doorway there's a fresh puddle on the ground. We're both wondering, "Did she pee there? (her lack of shame awareness is an occasional problem on the farm) Did she throw up? Did she pour it out?" She was in bed already, and we're both asking "OK, where's the beer?" "It was YUCKY! I spilled it out." We made her get the empty can out of the trashcan where she'd hid it, and double checked "Was it yummy or yucky?" She pointed to the drying puddle in the dust. "Yucky! I spilled it there." Well, you know, room temperature Bud Light, can't argue with that. Of course we did the reinforcement of "You STOLE, was that good or bad?" And she knows the right words to answer, but 'course that won't change her view of things. At least we grownups had a good laugh.