The other day I asked Roman to hang up his jacket, and he said this to me: okay - whatEVER! With a tone. Can you believe that?
My youngest. My sweet boy. I was completely taken aback. Where had we gone so... right?
I had to contain my excitement- we’ve waited much too long for him to get age-appropriately lippy. (Truth be told, he still has a fair amount of ground to catch up to his siblings in this uncharted snarky territory, but they did get a mostly neurotypical head start.)
This was but a mere verbal precursor to today though, as Cinco de Mayo always melds with margaritas the Romanator’s birthday. And today? Roman is officially a TEENAGER, y’all. (I can just see him squinting now, adorably unsuccessful at lampooning an eye roll. Baby steps!)
I know some believe 13 to be an unlucky number, but consider this: in Italian fare tredici is slang for hitting the jackpot. (<-- Thanks, Wikipedia!) And we have definitely overshot making thirteen in laughter and love. By a loooong country mile.
So in honor of his thirteen years on this planet, I’m offering up a baker’s dozen of my favorite Romanisms. Enjoy!
- Your father sells butt chips.
- Fiction is my life!
- My belly button is magic.
- I stole a deer.
- My vocabulary smells like sausage. <-- true words!
- I want to be a robot when I grow up.
- Q: Roman, what are you thinking about? A: Noncompliance.
- I’m tall in my shadow.
- I’m just making it up. I’m Jesus.
- Your morals have stink underwear on them.
- I hate gettin’ kicked in the weirds!
- That dog’s eyeball is upside down!
- It smells like Ben Franklin.