Drew is my nine-year-old son. He's funny. His father and I have crappy memories, so I'm writing this stuff down before we forget.
19 October 2011
Again, Without Words
I came downstairs this morning, and asked Drew if Abby, our dog, had gone outside yet. "Yes." "Did she go potty?" "I sniffed her vagina and I think so. I'm an expert vagina-sniffer." "...."
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