Wisdom of a nineyearold

We were coming up the last hill going home from our picnic dinner in a field nearby our house. I was beating that big, clunky Christiania up the hill. My nine-year-old daughter fighting her mountainbike with the pedals, cranking them inch by inch, wobbling some, breathing heavily. Finally she beats that hill, sits down and after a few seconds she says:

”Dad, you know, the bicycle must be the best thing ever invented. No, bicycles and beds are the best things ever invented.”

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