Why, mommy?
Why, mommy?

Why is the sky blue?

Why does the lizard shed its skin?

Why am I a girl and not a bird?

Does God love even me? (Yes, of course, dear.) Why?

Why do we sleep?

Why do I like to play?

Why are you sick?

Am I going to get those germs, too? (I hope not.) Why?

Why mommy?

And all day long, I hum to myself a little rhyme.
Warum, warum ist die Banane krumm?
About as meaningless to you as it is intended to be in German, but translated:
Why, why is the banana bent?
It reminds me of being a young girl. Why I asked my mother her name a gazillion times, I do not know. Perhaps I liked the answer. But I remember asking (and asking, and asking) and always receiving the same answer:
Puddin' n' tain
Ask me again
I'll tell you the same
Not sure what I would have thought if she answered my numerous other questions by inquiring about the general shape of bananas, but it seems to be the only suitable answer to the 500th "Why?" of the day.

But I still don't know what a Puddin' n' tain is supposed to be.