We’re all having breakfast and the little Viking has one hand down his pants.
Me: What’s wrong son, why have you got your hand in your pants at the table.
Little Viking: (looks up at me with a kind of concern, I can tell he’s hesitant to say).
Me: Is something wrong? Your willy sore or something?
LV: No.
Then why have you got your hand in your pants at the table, son, you know that’s not right.
LV: Dad, because my willy is sticking to my balls.
I’m not sure the ensuing laughter from the entire table was the socially appropriate response, but oh well, I can’t wait until he is accused later in life of manspreading. It will be another proud family day.
And today he drew me a picture that I basically interpreted almost entirely correctly off the bat:
LV: Daddy, I drew you a picture.
Me: Oh, thank you, I love it. It has a rocket here, I see (note the spikes on the rocket and the little man piloting it, with some red… could be his console or his exploding head from…) and this… some kind of fish?
LV: Yes. It’s a bat-fish. Flying in space.
Me: Yes, of course. I see that. It’s great.
Now I am thinking why I never imagined flying space bat-fishes in my stories. It’s such an obvious creature to encounter in any decent rocket adventure.
Hah, made me laugh, the only acceptable response in my opinion.
Book 4: Space-Bat Fishes from Neptune.