As we were standing at the counter at a snack bar, the man next to us, searching for the English term for "hot chocolate" from his native Spanish, asked for "a choc-oh-laht", a decent compromise of "chock-lit" and "chock-oh-lah-tay".
This stuck in my brain (of course), and, as we were walking to the car, I started singing a song from Dora (because I'm cool like that), which consisted of "Baté (bah-tay), baté, chocolaté. Baté, baté, chocolaté. Mix the chocolate, chocolaté...". I ignored the what-a-dork sneers my kids shot me.
We climbed into the car and everyone started securing their seat belts. I start the engine, and Ethan pipes up, "Wait! I'm not buckled! Buck-oh-lah-tay!"
Upon coming home from another soccer game, I said to Sam, "Connor took a ball in the junk."
"Yeah? Was he wearing a cup?" He turned and looked to Connor.
"No. Noone wears a cup. My junk is fine now."
"Yeah?" Sam said. "Well, you might not always be lucky. One day you might want to have children."
Ethan, across the room, scoffs. "He couldn't have children anyway! He's a boy!"
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