“Age before beauty,” Fleegle says at the front door of our house as we arrive.
I glance down at him as I slide the door key into the lock. He’s covered in mud from being at the park in the rain. And he likes to lie down in puddles when he drinks. “I want you to go straight to the bathtub so we can rinse that dirt off of you.”
“It’s not dirt, Raud, it’s conditioner, and the directions on the puddle said to leave it in overnight and not to rinse.”
“My manatee butt it’s conditioner. I wasn’t born yesterday.” I open the door and point inside. “Bathtub.”
He backs up a couple paces and sits, never a good sign.
“Okay, how many cookies is it going to take to get you into that bath?”
“Two, before the bath and after,” he says and rises to go inside. Then over his shoulder he adds, “And no breaking one cookie in half and calling it two. I wasn’t born yesterday either.”