Gum

So, my five-year old son has begun what I can only assume is going to be a long, moderately successful career as a criminal. I shall explain in the next paragraph.

Betsy left a pack of gum on the stairs, meaning to carry it up to her office when next she aimed herself in that direction. But when she went upstairs, she forgot about the gum, on account of its not being there. Days pass and Betsy recalls having placed a pack of gum on the stairs, but can't seem to figure out what happened to it.

Fast forward through much searching, many questions and several stern accusations. Normally we wouldn't put so much effort into finding a pack of gum, but with a toddler, a preschooler, and an aging dog in the house, we thought it would be best to locate the gum.

Fast forward through the rest of the stern accusations to the point where Jack confesses to having taken the gum, hidden it in his room, and at some point in the following two days or so, having also eaten, not chewed, eaten the entire pack. Fifteen pieces of gum, straight down the hatch. If my elementary school mythological mathematics is correct, he should be digesting the last of the gum in about one hundred and five years.