"Olivia," I say to the giggling underwear monster laying on the couch, "does a person mummified 3,500 years ago have a right to privacy?"
"Because it's cool!"
"Olivia, do you know what privacy actually means?"
"No, I'm a little kid, duh"
Which triggers a discussion of "alone time" and how a closed door means parents get yelled at when they bring video cameras into the room when imaginary dialogs are being acted out.
"So, Olivia, does someone who's been dead for more than three thousand years have a right to that?"
"No, daddy, duh!!!"