“Cot, Drop, and Roll!” she sang. “Cot, Drop, and Roll!”

I ignored her for as long as I could. I ignored her until she had sang all the way across the room and was now leaning into me and singing directly into my face.

I reached up and slowly pushed her away. “Okay, what are you singing, Clara?”

“It’s the thing about fire,” She said, and proudly danced and sang again, “Cot! Drop! And Roll!”

I shook my head in dismay, “Okay, but that doesn’t make any sense. What does it even mean to ‘Cot’?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, “Oh, Dad. You know COT! That’s always the first step. First you have to be Cot on fire, then you can drop and roll.”

I narrowed my eyes quietly while she continued laughing.

“Why would you drop and roll without cotting first?” She fell against the wall in a fit of giggles, and wiggled her arms around pretending to roll on the ground. “You’re funny Dad.”

Still laughing, she turned and left the room.