No, that’s not a typo.
As I was walking into a public room in a hotel this weekend, I found my path blocked by a toddler. He stood there, legs set wide and arms outspread, with a lightsaber clutched in his left hand, and announced “You may not pass” in tones as portentious as a 2 1/2 year old in a pirate shirt could manage.
I stood there in front of him, smiling. “No?” I asked him.
“No!” he asserted, very firmly. “You may not pass unwess you answer my widdle!”
“Ok. What’s the riddle, little guardian?”
Pause. Wave lightsaber. Frown. Think hard. “I don’t know.” And then, turning around, lightsaber dropping forgotten to the floor: “Mama? What’s my widdle?”