I'm not sure if all kids are this weird or if mine are weirder than most. They do have my DNA after all.
This is what my son said to Fatty and I, apropos of nothing, as we all sat eating dinner tonight.
"So! What do you think about each other since you've married?"
We both almost choked on the spaghetti, and I'm sure I snort-laughed. I went running for a pen so I could write down Ben's latest quote. When I returned, Fatty was soberly telling Ben that he was quite happy with his decision so far. (Quite happy? I needled. Just 'quite' happy? Not really happy, or plain happy? Just 'quite' happy??)
It was all laughter and happiness and fun and games, and 'isn't Ben funny' indulgence. And then Ben came up with his second quotable quote for the evening, as I was standing in shirt & undies, ironing a pair of pants to wear to a work meeting.
Ben (approaching me, peering at my legs): Are you wearing stockings?
Me: No, why?
Ben: Oh, no, you're not. So why are your legs all crinkled?
Me: (inwardly cursing my cellulite, hating my cellulite, wishing I had killer thighs and a bouncy butt) Oh, that's just what happens to legs as they get older.
Fatty looms around the corner grinning silently, herding Ben towards the bath before he can crush my self-image further.
I am not my cellulite. I am an intelligent, interesting, independent woman and it shouldn't matter what my legs look like.