A few weeks ago, Jacque told Evan she was thirty-one. He disagreed.
"No, Momma. You're eleven."
Jacque was a little confused, but tried to set him straight. "No. I'm thirty-one."
"No! You. Are. Eleven!"
And then it dawned on her. "You mean twenty-eleven?"
"Yeah! you're twenty-eleven!"
You see, when I turned thirty, my cousin Jill, who had recently also turned thirty, really showed her brilliance.
"We're not thirty. Were twenty-ten."
Ever since that moment, I've been assuring people like Jacque that she's really only twenty-eleven.
So I think I'm going to have to start being more careful about the things I say. The poomongers are listening and remembering more than I thought they were. Like maybe I shouldn't have told Sophia to say "Stuff happens!"
Hey, I could've had her say the naughtier version! Restraint!