So while we were in W@lm@rt waiting for the oil to be changed in the truck, we were walking around amid the chaos of the construction that someone decided ‘needed’ to be done the week before spring break. Of all the dumb, dorky notions! Anyways, there we were, walking around, checkin’ stuff out when Mr. B said he wanted to go home. But before I tell this story, I have to give you a little insight into what the boy is thinking here.
When we were sick in February, Mr.B said, “Momma, I sick.”
“I know, honey.” I said, “Momma is sick too.”
“What do you call someone when day are sick?” he asked.
“You say, ‘They are sick.'”
“What do you all TWO people who are sick?” he asked.
“Um, when two people are sick, you say they are sick.” I replied absentmindedly.
“No, Momma. Two sick people are called SICKIES!!” he explained.
So we were “sickies” for about three weeks. Then came the w@lm@rt run.
“I’m ready to go home. Do you want to go home, Momma?” he asked.
“I sure do, sweetheart. I’m ready to go home.” I replied.
“When I want to go home, I want to go home, so I’m a home. But when I want to go home AND you want to go home, we are HOMIES!” he informed me.
Giggling, but not outright laughing, we made it back to the car center and went up to the counter to pick up our keys.
“Hi!” Mr. B said to the man behind the counter, “I’m a homie! Are you a homie?” he asked.
Grinning, the guy just said, “No little dude, I ain’t no homie.”
After explaining about HOW we came under the term “homies”, the man looked at MR. B and said, “You may be a homie, little man, but I’m a workie!”
Mr. B told me about how much he liked that man the whole way home. Or homie. Whatev.