Oh! The Iron(y)!

Long time, no post. I know. I know. Don't even start.


So the other night, hubby, daughter and I were lying about the living room watching a movie - I don't know what, we've been donig the Harold Lloyd marathon lately - when son poked his head in the door. He just kind of stood there for a couple minutes and then, in his own unique way of talking without actually moving his jaw even a fraction of an inch, said "Where is the irony?"

Which stopped me dead in my tracks.

Where is the irony?

What?

Is this my son? Is this my very own boy waxing linguistic? I mean, some days the deepest question I might get from him is "Are you going to be done in there soon?" as he waits impatiently on the other side of the bathroom door.

Where is the irony?

My husband paused the movie and, kind of in a slow-motion manner - at least it seemed that way - we all swung our world weary heads to this new teenage philosopher. We looked at him for what seemed an eternity, waiting, waiting for the next bit of prophecy.

Actually, it was probably only seconds until hubby said "What?"

And then my son, this young intelligentsia, this, this, disciple of reasoning, said a little more clearly...

"The iron. Where is it?"




Which, given the source, is just as amazing a question.