Last night's supper was homemade pizza. And I make some good pizza, y'all. But of course, as with every other food item I put in front of them, my kids turned their noses up because there were mushroooooooms and oliiiiiiiiiives. (Can't you just hear the whining?)
"I don't like mushrooms," Colin groused. "They taste like penis."
My eyes widened at him - WTF did he just say?! - and I immediately launched into a tirade. "Young man, that is a totally inappropriate thing to say, and especially while we're at the dinner table. You know better than to talk that way. I can't believe you would say such a thing, Colin! And I should certainly hope that you don't know what penis even tastes like! For goodness sakes. I just can't even believe you. Why would you even say that?"
Colin looked at me in the same way that one might look at a rabid animal, then his gaze shifted helplessly to his father.
"Uh, Honey?" Curtis piped up.
"What?" I snapped, still in going-off mode.
"He said 'peas.' They taste like peas."
"I don't like the taste of peas, Mommy," Colin said in a small voice.
"I ... you ....... peas?" I stammered.
Well. So, okay, he didn't say penis. Thank goodness.
But I wouldn't have put it past him.