He seized a stuffed animal from a sleeping toddler. “Give me the pie or the giraffe gets it.”

I could feel the warmth of the pie against my chest. “Gets what?” I asked, trying to stall for time.

He pulled out a black sharpie. “This,” he said triumphantly. Behind him, the toddler began to cry.

“Put the giraffe down,” I said seriously.

“Give me the pie.” The marker neared the face of the giraffe.

“Mommeeeeee!” The toddler screamed.

I reached out and snatched the marker from my assailant’s hand. “It seems we’re at an impasse,” I said, uncapping the marker and brandishing it in his face.

“You have the advantage of me,” he admitted. “Perhaps we could come to an arrangement. After all, I still have the giraffe.” The toddler was standing in her seat, reaching for her plushy friend.

“But I have the marker and the pie. You have nothing left to bargain with.” I smiled. “You are beaten.”