I don’t know about you, but when I need someone to tell me the truth, I turn to the most brutally honest people I know: children under the age of 11.

I don’t know what it is about turning 12 but somehow you become self aware (or self conscious) enough to know when to censor yourself. This does me no good when I need to know if my outfit looks ok, if my hair looks stupid or if I’m completely failing at life. For this I need the wisdom of a 10-year-old.

So I’m sitting at work last week (probably playing on Facebook, as I do) and one of the teacher’s kids starts firing questions my way.

Child: How old are you?
Me: 27. Almost.
Child: Are you married?
Me: Nope.
Child: Well… do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Nope.
Child: Have you EVER had a boyfriend?
Me: Yep.
Child: So why don’t you have a boyfriend now?
Me: It’s very complicated.
Child: So… if it’s complicated… why would you ever have a boyfriend?
Me: Exactly.

When she had me feeling good and worthless she sidled up to the desk and asked to use the computer for a second. No problem, I said. I needed a minute to go hang my head in shame anyway.

Child: Is (insert male name here) your boyfriend?
Me: Nope. Why do you ask?
Child: Because I was reading your email.
Me: Those are work emails. Wait. You can read?? … Wait. You read my email? How old are you?
Child: Shouldn’t leave it up. I’m 10.

She carried on on the computer and I carried on folding towels. Every few minutes she’d shoot out another question.

So what kind of guys do you like? What’s the youngest guy you’d date… oldest? Do you like freckles? Should he have dark hair or light?

Just when I thought she was going to ask me how many children I’d like to have I turned around to see she was creating a Match.com profile for me. Uhyeah.

I’m not even kidding. I can’t make these things up. I didn’t even know kids knew how to use computers…

“I am not paying for that. Don’t you even dare,” I objected.
“No, come on. Just come look. All these guys are in Charlotte,” she pushed back.
“Absolutely not. I am not a part of this.”

She proceeded to peruse the listing for men aged 28-35, calling out potential mates.

“OOH. Here we go… 32… non-smoker… no kids! Facial hair, I know you like that.”

“Why… do you know that?” I lean over her shoulder. “Does it say how often he wears that cowboy hat?”

“Picky,” she rolls her eyes.

It carried on like that for a good 20 minutes, her calling out traits, me protesting and slowly dying in the corner.

“This one speaks English!” she calls.

“That’s a start,” I sigh.

Eventually she turned to me, dead serious, and said, “Can I be in your wedding?”

“What wedding?” I laughed. “Ten minutes ago you were making me a Match.com profile.”

“I know. Just whenever you do get married, can I be in it?”

“Sure. But you might be a lot older by then.”

“Is there an age limit on bridesmaids?” she asked.

“Nope. Not on brides either,” I said.

“Good,” she smiled. “Cuz it might be a while.”

Indeed, little one. Indeed.

So I made these blondies.

The recipe–which is originally from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar–is fool proof and works with any nut butter.

I’ve made them with peanut butter, sunflower butter and now almond butter. They’re all the best. No favoritism here. They are seriously (SERIOUSLY) incredible.