This morning we sat on the couch--Katie, Jorge, and me--in a post-pancake haze sharing zerberts and giggles. Suddenly Katie turned to Jorge and announced she had a question for him.
Why did the rat take the kitchen to get the chicken?
Jorge cocked his head a bit and appeared deep in thought. Katie looked at me, eyes sparkling with anticipation of giving her answer. I pondered it myself, a moment, trying to figure out if it was a mutation of a joke I knew. Finally I caved.
I don't know. Why?
Because it's a joke.
Ready for another?
Why did the puzzle fit in the kitchen and the chicken ate it?
Because it was another joke!
As we were snuggling on the couch Katie lifted her head and looked at me.
Mom, your birdcage is rusty.
Your birdcage is rusty.
*exasperated* The one that goes all around you. It's rusty. And my birdcage is rusting on it.
*rolling her eyes at her daffy mother* This. Right here. *patting her ribcage* My birdcage, it's resting on your birdcage and your birdcage is resting on the couch.