A few nights ago, at the dinner table, we were having some sort of conversation. I can't remember what we were talking about but Garrett ended up referring to something as a male. Impressed that he knew that word, what it meant, and how to properly use it, I said, "That's right, a boy is a male. If a boy is a male, do you know what a girl is called?"
"A calf," he supplied, convinced.
I have no idea what on earth he was thinking when he said that but it struck me as so hysterical that I nearly spit my food across the table. After I threw a hand over my mouth to keep my partially chewed dinner inside, I glanced at my husband who was laughing equally as hard.
I had visions of him, twelve years from now, informing me that he was dating a really nice calf. Although, I'm not sure the girl of his dreams would enjoy being referred to as a tiny bovine.
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