I’m sitting here listening to Aja announce into the fan all the things her sister can’t call her. Remember that? Laying on the floor in front of one of those big square fans and making all kinds of weird noises to hear how much weirder they sounded chopped up by the fan? I had forgotten. I’d also forgotten the sibling name-calling. “You cannot call me ding dong,” and “You also can’t call me weiner. You also can’t call me wee wee.”

“How ’bout Henry Tinkler?”

“Hairy armpits!”

“Oh, now it’s ON!”

(*stomp*stomp*run*swiiiiishhh*giggle)

“Hairy butt person!”

“I farted on youuuu! That’s what you get!”

Ah, the seven and eight-year-old wit.

Now they’re singing a song they made up. Wait, did she just say “junk in her trunk??” I’m not even sure I know what that means, but it sounds kinda, umm, not-so-elementary, my dear Watson.

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