Thursday, June 9, 2011


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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