The Tub

January 23, 2020

Eight-Year-Old: No, you have to drop out to get in the tub.


January 22, 2020

Cousin’s Cousin [to her niece]: Tell Grandpa, “That’s my bink.” You don’t touch a girl’s bink.


January 21, 2020

Me: I think the prettiest word in English is “erythropoietin.” It just lilts off my tongue, and it even has the word “poet” embedded in it. It’s a hormone involved in the production of red blood cells, and I think it’s really too bad that the only time I’m likely to hear about “erythropoietin” is in a discussion about doping allegations in competitive cycling.


January 20, 2020

Jim Carrey, the proprietor of a microstate. That’s the word I was groping for.

I don’t know why I said that.


January 19, 2020

Me: How did I get this much disgusting crud under my knuckles?

I mean, my fingernails.

Who am I talking to?


January 18, 2020

Twelve-Year-Old: There was a sign there that said, “shoplifters persecuted,” and at first, I thought it said, “shapeshifters.”


January 17, 2020

Wife: Don’t make egg hammers!

Happy birthday, Eight-Year-Old son!


January 16, 2020

Friend: On your side, you have a supernatural flying fox.


January 15, 2020

Fifteen-Year-Old: I love having trauma, with a capital T.


January 14, 2020

Aunt: Are you done with this?
Fifteen-Year-Old: No, but you can take my plate anyway.