New Nonsense from the Home Trenches

The Geico Cavemen often have a better vocabulary, and better insight, than I. (P.S. I heart the Geico Caveman who occupies the Caveman's Crib--he's pretty snarky and crabby, but he is so savvy, intellectual and sophisticated, and his apartment is downright awesome. I like dressing him up in his hopelessly retro tennis outfits. He knows how to party. I would totally eat the shrimp cocktail, and I want a set of those refrigerator poetry magnets in Esperanto!)

Tyke (convalescing on sofa with ice pack after the toe-smashing incident and looking a little downhearted, worried about whether he'll be allowed to participate at baseball practice): Mom, I'm in a fig.

Me: Whuuutt?

Tyke: You know. I'm in a fig!

Me: Huuuunnnhhhh? [Grunt]?

Tyke (really loud this time, as if increased volume will help me comprehend): YOU KNOW!!! I'm in a FIG!!! You know, a FIG!

Me: [feeling like a complete imbecile] I'm sorry, Tyke, I just don't understand what you're trying to say.

Tyke looks at me in silent disgust, as if to say, "You old people are so pathetic."

A whole minute goes by. I assume the meaning in the message will remain a mystery. Once that minute has passed, I've given up and forgotten about it.

Tyke: Oooohhhh!!! OOHHH! I know! (pause) I'm in a FUNK!!

Me: [laughter to the point of hyperventilation; faint]

Cut to this morning.

Tyke: Mom, why are inches so long?

Me: [Long stare. Silence.]