It took me twelve years of public education, eight years of university, thirteen years in practice, and seventeen years as a mom, but yesterday I finally learned a crucial fact:
Animal cells come only in cherry chip flavor.
Did you people know this? How could you have failed to tell me? Is there anything else you’re holding back? Like maybe the reason my cat has to hork up her hairball on my keyboard? Or why I remember how to spell Coccidioidomycoses, but can’t recall the American spelling for “grueling”?
In case you have forgotten your middle school biology, my son offers the following legend:
B. Cytoplasm — in vanilla flavor, natch
C. Cell membrane
Oh, and one more announcement: I’ve told M I can’t keep referring to him as “my son”; it’s cumbersome. Since he is fine with me talking about his actions on my blog, but not with me using his real name or image, he has now selected a blog pseudonym. Are you ready…?
I don’t think you are.
Yup, my son will henceforth be known as Frank. No, it’s Monday morning. I have not been dipping in the sauce. (Or would that be the endoplasmic reticulum? I keep getting confused.) Frank’s his name of choice, peeps, much preferred to his own Christian name for a couple of years now.
How about you? Do you have a child who rejects the perfectly good moniker with which you endowed him/her? Do they involve you in fattening science projects? Or have you edged past that stage, and find yourself missing the beaters higher learning?