#6 walked in this morning (my 25th birthday), and said, “Hi! How does it feel to be that much closer to death?” After a minute of similar chatter, we ended up talking about life before birth. He was surprisingly oppositional about the idea that I was alive in our mom. Finally, he confessed his reason: “I don’t want the time before to count, because then I would be eleven, and that’s almost as old as most people are when they start smoking pot- blazing.”
Only in my family. . .