On our way back from Ottawa, Ontario, we went through US Customs and Immigration. The line was long, the sun beat down on the car with glaring intensity, and Becca's eyes were feverishly shiny—she was definitely coming down with something.
"And didja purchase anything while you were in Canada that you're bringing back to the US?", asked the inspector.
"Two t-shirts and a stroller," I replied.
I left out the virus that is running its merry way through both of my children's noses. I did not think that joking about a virus would lead to good things. More like guns and tanks and lots and lots of questions.