On the way to the ER, I was trying to gently prepare Young Son for what might transpire, since he was notoriously awful in unexpected situations like that. I gave a brief synopsis of what the doctor might do, including looking at the cut (he wouldn't let me look at it when I picked him up), washing it, maybe some medicine and a stitch, and then the magic bandage which makes all boo-boos better instantaneously. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.
He considered what I'd said, and stated
"Mom, I don't want to see a doctor that's toolish."HUH?
I asked him what that meant. He replied, dead serious,
"I want to see a doctor that's lookish, not toolish."How in hell do you keep a straight face at a comment like that?
I sometimes get nostalgic for the days when his command of the language combined with his overactive imagination to produce some amazing blogfodder. Then I remember that now he can wipe his own rear.