“Billygean.” MindReader emerges out of the pantry with a flour-covered hand. “If you put something away which might spill, please seal it up.”

“Okay,” I say, contrite.

Three weeks later

“Where have all the clips gone?” MindReader says. “For bread bags? We used to have loads.”

I slide off the kitchen counter where I’ve been watching him cook and lead him silently to the pantry.

I open the door. And there they are. Rows and rows of bags: flour, sugar, nuts, raisins, cherries, bread mixes, marzipan, icing sugar. Anything that could conceivably spill, even just a little. All neatly clipped at the top with all of the clips we have ever owned.