We're sitting at breakfast this morning, and Po, as he sometimes does, starts blowing bubbles in his milk. I've given up on forbidding him completely to do it because, well, that just sets us up for a day of "you're in big trouble" that we don't really need. So I'm trying to establish parameters, instead. No blowing bubbles over the top so it makes a mess, and no blowing bubbles in a restaurant. I'm such a hard-ass.
Po starts blowing away and gives me a sly grin, knowing I don't completely approve, but confident that he'll get away with it. "It's a latte!" he declares.
I start cracking up. The latte IS my coffee beverage of choice, but I truly only get one about once a quarter, so it's not like this is something he hears every day. "How do you know what a latte is, Po?"
"I'm just a smart guy."
No doubt.
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