~ William Jefferson Clinton
It's not enough that Will knows all the words -- and sings them frequently and at a volume that exceeds 11 -- to Flo Rida's "Low."
It's not enough that Will knows the entire daytime lineup -- in order -- for the Game Show Network. "Ooooh look... it's Card Sharks!"
He's now encountered his first narcotic -- smelling the unmistakable aroma of cannabis.
He was on a stroll around my parents' condo building (which shall be referred to from now on as the Tower of Terror) with my mother (aka Nana.) They had walked their regular route -- poked through the dog park across the street, looked in at the diners and drinkers at the tapas place on the corner and watched the sailboats glide along the water in the bay.
As they approached the building, right at the corner where the Irish pub-ette (it's like Dublin lite in there) is, my mother, ever the hip septuagenarian, smelled pot in the air.
Before she could hustle Will along, he wrinkled his little nose and said "what dat smwell?"
And Nana, with her Aunt Pittypat nature at full mast, said "Oh, Will. That's garlic."
Yes, you read that correctly.
She meant well, but good lord.
It's not as if Will's going to have occasion to smell pot on a regular basis. But he does smell garlic con frequencia 'round here, as I cook with it. A lot.
Can you feel me rolling my eyes right now? Because I am.
I'll keep you posted...