Kelly had made a delightfully refreshing dinner: salad with salmon, and we were sitting in the TV room, eating our meals. The Little Man had a small dish of his own and was picking around his salmon, mostly eating the veggie, as he is wont to do. I can’t recall what we were talking about, but there we were, talking, when all at once, something that the Little Man was saying began to permeate my consciousness.
He was standing in the middle of the floor, with a smirk on his face and was saying, in perfect imitation of a frustrated adult, “Oh shit!”
It took another second and before that second was through, he’d said it again: “Oh shit!”
I looked at Kelly and could feel the instant loss of control. Barely able to contain my laughter, I said, “I have to use the restroom!” and I jumped up and proceeded into the powder room, shut the door and began cackling like a hyena. I took a few deep breaths and then returned to my meal.
“Oh shit!” the Little Man purred.
Kelly tried to distract him, “What did you do at school today?” she asked.
“Play toys!” he said. “Oh shit!”
At this point lettuce was coming out of my nose and I once again had to excuse myself. Kelly was smirking at this point, but at least she maintained her composure. She once again was able to distract him, and we successfully ignored his outbursts. And it must have worked because we haven’t heard him say those words since.
But it was hysterically funny, the kind of funny after which your cheeks and side are sore. I am laughing out loud as I write this post. Neither Kelly nor I can figure out where he heard this. I don’t use profanity often, but when I do, it is a George Carlin-esque stream of words that you can’t say on television, and I don’t think “shit” is included in that list any longer. It is a mystery.
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Lol, nice. That’s actually a strategy I hadn’t thought of. When I was babysitting, we always tried to convince the toddlers that the cool kids said “Sheets” instead. Sadly they were never fooled.