The preteen years have started, for reals.
This morning I emerged from my boudoir and heard Henry talking on the phone, at about 7:30 am. Who the heck are you talking to? I asked. Turns out he called in to the radio station he listens to on his clock radio, one of those inane entertaining local morning shows. Seems they were discussing what a gizzard was (scintillating!) and asked people to call in with their answers.
Henry, never shy, immediately picked up the phone and got on air. Here's the rough transcript:
"Hi there, what's your name?"
"Henry."
"So Henry, what's a gizzard?"
"Um, it's that red thing chickens wear, on their chins."
"Oh, is that what it is? How do you know this - are you a chicken farmer?"
"No, my mom's the vice president of the High Desert Museum."
Outed on air! Though it doesn't say much for the Museum that I supposedly called that red thing a gizzard. Sheesh, everyone knows that's a wattle.
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