“What Color Am I?”

My littlest nephew likes nothing more at this stage in his life than calling the dog’s name over and over for no reason, running at me as fast as he can and then leaping onto me (I’m going to have bruises for weeks, I’m sure), and yelling in Applebee’s as loud as he can “What color am I?  Someone tell me right now what color I am.  WHAT COLOR AM I?”

He also informed us that his last name is Mac.

This came as a great surprise to all of us, but he explained that his other dad’s last name is Mackenzie and so his last name is Mac.  I found this amusing, seeing as how his mom and my recalcitrant brother are still married, so even she still has our last name.  (And they probably will be married until the end of time, due to stubborn stupidity on both their parts.)

Oh well, he told us it’s not any big deal; he’s going to have eleven thousand dads by the time he’s my age, so he’ll have lots of last names, but we can just call him by his first name and he will answer.

He also thought that Mrs. Wigglebottom had very tiny balls for a dog her size.  So, I had to explain that they were not her balls, but her labia.

“Grandpa B., I can see the dog’s ladia,” he said, and I decided that women having ladias was kind of fitting.  If men can refer to their penises as their manhoods, we can have some girly bits called our ladias, for sure.

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