FB comes into the kitchen. I'm making guacamole for a dinner I won't eat, listening to The Civil Wars "C'est La Mort" on repeat, lamenting that our weekend plans blew up, and generally wallowing. He looks at me and says, "Mom, can I get a hug?" He has impeccable timing. I give him what we call the "boob smash" (his head is level with my chest) and kiss his hair. I feel slightly better. Then we have the following conversation:
FB: How old do I need to be to wear deodorant?
Me: There's no age requirement, you just need to smell.
FB: I wish I smelled.
FB: Because I want to use deodorant. It's so cool. You rub it on your armpits. I wish I could rub something on my armpits.
Me: You are the strangest person I have ever met.
My kids are freaking cool.