Kit"S." Plural. As in 3.
She's got yarn and string and cardboard guides coming out of her ears.
"What am I gonna do with all this, Mom?" she stares up at me in dismay. "I just don't have that many friends."
"Well, hon, what about your Mema, and your Grammy, and all your Tias?"
She nodded, but still looked really perplexed.
"Maybe you could sell them," I say nonchalantly.
And, seriously, I could almost see the little green dollar sign icons popping out of her head and floating through the kitchen, cha-ching! cha-ching! cha-ching!
Then she says, "Umm...Mom...I have an idea. What if I make some for my real real friends, and then their other friends will see them and ask where they got them, and they'll say from me, and then I could charge them $1 for one, and then THEIR friends will see see them and ask where they got them, and I'll just keep them in my backpack and sell them at recess 'cause soon everybody will be wanting one and I don't want to have to be making them every night..."
"That's called word-of-mouth marketing, baby," I interject. "It's the best way to get your stuff out there."
But she wasn't listening. She was already counting gold bars in her head.
[Yep. We start 'em young 'round here.]