Why I Love My Husband But Have Been Known To Roll My Eyes At Him, Dramatically, Part XXVI
Dinner chez HBM, last night:
Wonderbaby (pointing, with frown, to suspicious orange lump on plate): Whassat?
HBM: Sweet potato.
Wonderbaby: NO LIKE TAY-TOE.
HBM: Fine. It's a yam.
HBF (helpfully): It's a tuber.
Wonderbaby: NO LIKE TOOBER.
(Tuber/yam/sweetpotato flies by HBM's head, very narrowly missing her nose, and lands, with a splat, on the dining room wall, where it clings for a sticky moment before sliding, tuberously, to the freshly-cleaned floor.)
HBF: Tuber-too-close-is. Be glad you didn't catch that.