“You should call them ‘cut up sweet potatoes,’ not ‘French fries.’ French fries implies they’re white and fried and have salt on them.” So began our dinner conversation about the French fries that were not really French fries, which was better than our dinner conversation about farting.
“They are French fries.”
“No. Now, if they were made by a French friar, you could call them French friers. Get it?” I was starting to miss the conversation about the farts.
“Do you know what a friar is?” My husband was curious.
“Yes. Sort of like a priest.”
Benjamin finished eating his burger and not-fries, but he refused to leave the room. Lilah declined to eat her burger at all, preferring to dine exclusively on not-fries, which means the only thing she had eaten all day that wasn’t a fruit or a vegetable was a pancake at 8 AM. After a knocked over glass and the final egress of Things Two and Three, I resurfaced to find Zach saying, “I laughed. I giggled.” Dramatic pause. “I chortled.”
“I was thinking ‘chortled,’” J replied.
“What can I say? I’m redundant.” Now I was laughing and giggling. “Look,” he went on, “you learn a lot when you watch Word Girl.” This is true. I’m sure quite a few of the eight-year-olds who have watched Word Girl regularly use the word “redundant.” It didn’t make it any less amusing.
The conversation turned in that mysterious way conversations can, and Zach mentioned in passing that his eyes hurt frequently. J looked at me. “I’ll make an appointment.”
“No, it’s just from looking too hard,” Zach put in.
“It means you may need glasses,” my husband told him.
“No. That’ll ruin any chance I have left.”
“Of getting a date someday?”
“But Daddy and I both wear glasses. We both got dates.”
“Yeah, you got dates with each other. Because none of the good dates wanted you.” By this point, I just couldn’t help it. I was chortling.