“Dad? When is our dinner coming? When’s my grilled cheese getting here?”
“We just ordered, Bob,” said Jeff.
“It’s going to be a few minutes,” I said.
Bob slid out of his seat and under the table. In a moment, he reappeared on the other side of the table next to Jeff. Bob climbed on to Jeff’s lap.
“Dad? Can I sit on your soldiers?”
“No, buddy.”
“Your soldiers?” I said.
“He means shoulders.”
“Oh. That was weird. I thought maybe ’soldiers’ was a euphemism for your privates.”
Jeff thought for a second. “No, but it is now.”
