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I Blame My Family

Over Thanksgiving, my father and brother were amused by the brand name of the yogurt we feed Will: YoBaby. Of course, they started trying to get Will to repeat "Yo baby!" It didn't take much, and Will let out a stream of "Yo babys": matter of fact, quizzical, Barry White, and Dirty Old Man. (The last was really unnerving coming from a not-yet-two-year-old.) I kept hoping Will'd forget. And he hadn't said it in weeks.

Tonight, at the grocery store somewhere in the canned veggies, our shopping cart passed an attractive twentysomething's. Will turned to her, and said -- softly, but with the Dirty Old Man voice -- "Yo baby."

I kept going. Stared straight ahead. Refused to make eye contact.


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That still can't top, "Daddy? Boys have a peanut and girls have a banana."

In the tampons section.