Car Talk

We’ve logged in excess of 15,000 miles since moving from Maine this past August. Roman loves the highway, and is generally quiet and pensive in the back seat. Unless he is filibustering, of course. And his fellow seat-mate Lucca is on the front lines when he decides to have the floor. It's geography.

Here are a few of the conversations I overheard on the open road.

    Roman: What's a nightlight?
    Lucca: It's a light little kids use to go to bed.

    Roman: How do planes take off?
    Lucca: I’m not sure.

    Roman: How do kids go to school?
    Lucca: Their parents take them.

    Roman: What's a unicorn?
    Lucca: Where’s your iPad?

    Roman: How do we go home?
    Lucca: Our home is behind us.*

    Roman: I hate Vikings.
    Lucca: Oooookay.

    Roman: Lucca, how do parents go to bed?
    Lucca: The same way we do, only they're taller.**

    Roman: I have hot dog powers.
    All of us: Whaaaaaaat?

Turning tables, I present to you some prime examples of solid Romanator humor.

    Quinn: What's your sidekick's name?
    Roman: Ouch.
    Quinn: Is that because he takes the beatings for you?
    Roman: Yeah, it really is.

    [On the Star Wars Jedi toothbrush going haywire at the end of it’s life cycle]
    Jeff: Why is it still flashing?
    Roman: ‘Cause it's on batteries.

    [Lucca wanted Romi to give her some privacy so she could change clothes]
    Me: Come on, Rome, be a gentleman.
    Roman: I’ll be a gentlemen in a minute.***

    [After at least the hundredth reference to Big Daddy, his beloved Bruder recycling truck]
    Roman: Lucca, does Big Daddy love me?
    Lucca: No. I don’t want to hear you you talk about Big Daddy any more. Big Daddy is just a piece of plastic.
    Roman: I did NOT see that coming!

    [Getting dressed after a shower, Romi is standing by the window in the buff. The shade is partially open, leaving a gap at the bottom of the window.]
    Me: Romi, you might not want to get dressed by the window, where your business is... (I falter, stumbling for the right words)
    Roman: At 30%!
    Jeff: Buffering...

    [After coming out of a loud restaurant]
    Me: Romi, How does your brain feel?
    Roman: Out of breath.

    [Roman says something rude to Jeff]
    Me: Romi, what do you say to Popi?
    Roman: I accept your apologies.
    Me: *facepalm*

    [Roman is uncharacteristically calm and quiet]
    Me: Romi, what are you doing?
    Roman: Growing beards.****


*Our 1967 Airstream that Roman dubbed Sputnik.
**Humor points added.
***I think this is technically what they call a mistermeaner. <--I KID! I kid.
****You and me both, son!

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