My niece recently told me the following story:
I’m drawing this picture of a monster. He lives in the woods, but he knows how to find his way to this house. He has a map his mommy gave him. He also has a song taught to him by his mommy when he was little in case he ever loses the map. So he’ll know how to get here without the map. He’s being chased by creditors. He’s hiding a goose with a golden egg. The egg hatched into a golden crocodile with golden teeth. It sleeps in my bed with me. If the monster tries to get me the crocodile will bite him. And I can kick him in the butt too. Or I can throw up on him so he doesn’t get me.
On vacation we spotted a sign that read: Fluffys Roast Beef. It looked like a casual, summer-type restaurant. The name struck me as odd. Even weirder though was the fact that across the street was an animal hospital. So does the ‘Fluffys’ actually describe the source of their ‘roast beef’? Sorry kids, Fluffy is in heaven now. On the bright side, they’re having a sale on roast beef sandwiches across the street! Poor Fluffy.
Hanging around with nephew at the Great Escape theme park, some of the adults were discussing season passes. One of us mused that perhaps a separate, shorter line was available for pass holders. Nephew pipes up angrily in an insistent voice, “Tha’s a BAD WORD!” All the other adults looked at each other confused, trying to figure out the source of the problem. Not me. I said, “No sweetie he said pass. holders.” That does sound almost uncomfortably close to a rude word for part of one’s butt.