On our way back from visiting some good friends in G-burg tonight, this conversation transpired in the back of the van:
Medium Fry: Deawr God, pwease help my duckie feewl better. He's sick. Pwease make him bettewr.
Small Fry: And my piggie.
Medium Fry: Deawr God, pwease help Smawll Fwry's piggie to feel bettewr too. 'Cause Duckie made him sick. Help dem bof get bettewr.
[Three minutes pass. Give or take.]
Medium Fry: Auntie, my duckie is dead! He DIED!
Me: He died?
Medium Fry: Yes!
Me: I don't think he's dead.
Medium Fry: Well, he fwrew up!
Me: That doesn't mean he's dead.
Of course, right on cue, Large Fry threw up due to motion-sickness.
A perfect ending to the story, don't you think?
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