(The boy climbs into the car)
Me: “We’re just going into town to pick up some things. Why did you run back into the house?”
Danger Monkey, age 9: “I almost forgot my dice. I have a special pocket in my fleece just for my dice bag and some pencils in case anyone ever wants to play D&D.”
Me: … (sniff)
DM: “Daddy, are you crying?”
Danger Monkey, age 9: “What is this?” (pokes with fork)
Me: “Those are grilled onions, my son. I noticed you’ve been eating raw onions for the last few weeks, so figured you should try them the way they should be eaten: slowly fried until they are golden, caramelized and delicious.”
DM: “But, now they don’t give me a breath weapon.”
Me: (slow blink)
Me: “Noted.”
Danger Monkey, age 9: “When I grow up, I want to be 5’9″ and no more.”
Me: “That’s very… specific. Any reason why?”
DM: “I read that’s the average height of a High Elf.”
Me: “I support this.”
Very Vocal Viking 