Good afternoon, concerned Finslippy readers! I am sorry that I frightened all of you, especially the Effexor users among you, with my tales of woe. By the next day I felt better than I have in months. But did I write about that? No, I just did a smug little dance and I headed out the door. How could I stay in when I felt so good? What if it didn’t last?
In other news, Henry is honing his comic technique. The ultimate in funny, right now, is to approach me and announce, “I thought you were a [made-up word here].” For instance:
“I thought you were a shnerb.” Raucous laughter ensues. He repeats the word a few times. And laughs some more.
“What’s a shnerb?” I ask. More laughter. He can’t get enough of it!
“A shnerb is a sort of funny bug. A funny bug that eats people.”
Repeat this nine or ten times in an afternoon, and it just gets funnier! No matter what the word is, it always means “funny bug that eats people.” Sometimes it’s a funny bug that eats fire people. I’m not sure where he got this idea. For once, I can’t blame it on Star Wars.
I told him I didn’t think a people-eating bug would be funny, exactly. Not because I’m concerned that he might seek out and befriend an enormous killer insect; just because I was bored and wanted to see where this would go. But nothing’s less funny than analyzing your own joke, as we all know, so he got sort of pissy with me and spat, “I don’t want to talk about that.” Which I think was sort of unfair, frankly, because didn’t he just accuse me of being one of these deadly bugs? Shouldn’t I have the right to find out more about them?
And now, my favorite neologism ever:
Henry is walking on the curb, as it is where the snow is located. He looks up and exclaims, “The snow is all plandering under my boots!”
“What is plandering?” I ask him.
“Plandering means when it planders. When the snow is all plandery.”
That’s my boy.