“You know, I just felt that the fluorescent light in the basement flattered Max’s drawing much better than the natural light in the kitchen,” claimed Max’s mother, Helen Engle, whose reception of the drawing earlier that day had been lukewarm at best. “If I’m being perfectly honest, his work just doesn’t quite fit in with what we expect from fridge quality pieces.”

“My son Jasper, on the other hand, is a true artist,” said Helen, referring to a crudely drawn picture of a beach. “Just look at the way he plays with light and shadow. Every time I look at my fridge, I’m transported to a tropical island. I can almost hear the ocean! Max could learn a thing or two from Jasper.”

“Max drew a dog during art class today, and frankly, it felt contrived,” said Helen as she used a magnet that had held up one of Max’s paintings to hang a new portrait from Jasper. “I couldn’t tell if he was trying to go for a figurative feel, or if it was just bad. Of course, I’m his mother, and I would never tell Max this, but he has no future as a creative.”

At press time, Max’s father had sent him for the bottle opener so he could give Jasper his first sip of beer.