I’m in the kitchen stirring some oatmeal when Ryan yells out to me from the family room, “Can you grab me that Aleve box?”
Not sure what he means by this box, I yell back, “What box?”
“I mean that Aleve can,” Ryan yells.
Still not sure what he means by “can,” but understanding that Aleve is a medicine Ryan has been taking for his shin splints, I yell back, “You mean the Aleve bottle?????!??!?!?”
Ryan laughs. I laugh very hard, then write this post immediately.
This all reminds me of my upset mother, yelling at us when we were younger: “Stop it, Dane! I mean Grant! I mean Lissa! I mean Nemo! I mean Tara!!!! STOP IT, TARA!”
The moment you call a bottle a box, or your daughter “Nemo,” which is the name of the family cat, you’ve lost a lot, if not all, credibility.