The Case of the Pink Stain

Early one morning, the scene of the crime was discovered by the woman of the house, who was alarmed by the color and persistence of the evidence. What follows is an accurate recreation of the investigation, interrogation, and ultimate outcome of the case.

As I was cleaning the house, I came across something mysterious on the kitchen counter. "What is this?" I asked the First Reader, who happened to be in the kitchen with me.

He looked at it. "Looks like pepto bismol to me."

It did have that virulent pink color to it, but... "I don't think so. It's not... gummy enough. The stain looks like something soaked into the counter, and pepto is too thick."

He took a sip of his coffee. "Probably ask the boy-child."

Indeed. The Ginja Ninja is responsible for her share of messes, but the boy is the more likely culprit when investigating a mystery of this, ah, hue. I asked.

He got a sheepish look on his face, and a half-grin crept into sight. "Well, you see, I was trying to see if I could make a thing, and it would explode, and color the whole house pink."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I put vinegar, and baking soda, and some of your food coloring into a bottle and shook it up. But it only bubbled a little. So I did it again with more baking soda."

I realize the pink is my gel food dye. "Why would you do that in the kitchen?"

"It was really late!" His voice goes up to a squeak.

The First Reader chimes in. "What were you doing up so late, then?"

The Boy, knowing he frequently gets in trouble for breaking bedtime, backtracks hastily. "It was, like, eight o'clock."

"Then why didn't you do this outside?" The First Reader is still calmly sipping coffee and sounding very reasonable.

"It was dark!" The boy protests, gesturing toward the window. "I couldn't see anything!"

I intervene again, having scoured the spot off the counter with the magic eraser sponge. "Then do what a real scientist does. Get a notebook," I pointed toward the shelf of spare school supplies, "and write it down. Then when it's light outside, you can test your hypothesis. But not in my kitchen!"

"But I'm not that patient! I had to know now... I mean, then!"

I looked at the First Reader, and he picked up his lunchbag before beating a hasty retreat for the front door, and ultimately, work. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. We both knew what I was thinking. Mad Science starts at home.

The conversation related is true, and the participants are real people. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. The scene of the crime was restored to it's original cream color, and the perpetrator was given a notebook with strict instructions to carry out further experiments outside, and to write them down properly with measurements for reproducibility.