Sometime last year, Roman started a quirky habit of saying a random word right after sneezing. Not every time, but often enough that I started writing them down. To wit:
Sneezes; NOTHING ELSE.
Sneezes; CAR CARRIER.
Sneezes; ROLLING PIN.
Sneezes; LIQUID AIR.
Burps; I BURPED MYSELF.
Sneezes; DAY DREAMING.
Sneezes; TIME MACHINE!
These words materialize like fish jumping out of Roman’s stream of consciousness, verbal fragments momentarily jettisoned out of his mental hideaways. Disconnected to any ongoing conversation, they cap an involuntary bodily function with a non sequitur finale. They bear witness to a love of words, and to a decent size vocabulary (<--Am I right?).
Usually, the content of Roman’s words aren’t as important as the WAY that he says them. Anything growled out in angry voice - even I LIKE YOU - communicates frustration.
But these sneeze words are invariably accompanied by smirks and pauses for appreciation; they are punchlines to unknowable jokes, some of them quite nerdy. (I’m looking at you, “LIQUID AIR”!) Mercifully though, my love for corny humor runs deep and true.*
*By the way, the trick to not crying when you chop onions? Don’t form an emotional bond.