Kids are notorious for making inane statements at inane moments. They hold sway over a non-sequitur like nobody's business.

Still, I was ill-prepared for how speedily a recent happy-go-lucky conversation with my 4-year-old daughter devolved into tears. One minute she was prattling on about gymnastics and her new pink Hello Kitty tutu and her latest piece of artwork; the next she was sobbing so hard I could barely make out from whence the sadness came.

I stopped what I was doing – a combination of clearing the table, picking up toys, listening with one ear and inserting the proper “mmm-hmmm’s” to indicate I was paying attention – and scooped her up.

There are crocodile tears and then there are the real deal – and these were authentic. Slowly, shakily, the story spilled out.

Shira had been at preschool, busily crafting paper gingerbread dolls, when a girl in her class told her, “I don’t care about you.” To make matters worse, the girl had the audacity to insist her dolls were “more prettier” than Shira’s.

When it happened, Shira ignored her. She said nothing and told no one. But hours later, the memory surfaced and she started bawling.

She’d gotten her feelings hurt by a Mean Girl.

I couldn’t believe it was starting this early.

In 2002, shortly before I became a mother, Rosalind Wiseman published “Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends, and Other Realities of Adolescence.”

Realities of adolescence? Try preschool!

Wiseman’s go-to guide for parents of teen girls laid bare a landscape where girls emotionally bully each other, inflicting social scars that last a lifetime.

As any parent of a little girl can tell you, the social cattiness starts long before high school.

Where some little boys are aggressive, some little girls are passive-aggressive. I’d heard this was true, but this was the first time this phenomenon had confronted me.

“I didn’t tell my teacher,” Shira said to me. “I just wanted to tell my mama.”

Oh, the pressure. My daughter was looking to me for coping mechanisms, and I knew I’d better come up with some good ones.

I put on my child psychologist’s hat. “How did it make you feel?” I asked.

“It hurt my feelings,” Shira answered.

“Did you tell her that?” I inquired.

She answered in a small voice: “No.”

Together, we strategized, with me distilling values like self-confidence to a 4-year-old’s level of understanding and her taking mental notes.

We even practiced. I snubbed her, I punched her (lightly!).

“Fine,” Shira said in her snootiest voice, hands perched on pencil-thin hips encased in above-referenced Hello Kitty tutu. “No one can say something mean to me. No one can hurt me. My body’s special.”

Good job, Mama.

Good job, Shira.

You go, girl.

Bonnie appears Saturdays on TriangleMom2Mom