Just returned from a playground jaunt with the two loveliest children in the world (photographic evidence forthcoming), which was peachy except that Cousin Fiend inadvertently cultivated an obsession with stink bugs in Fuss' impressionable mind.
It began with spotting one in a field, progressed through a dire warning not to touch it, and culminated in the horrifying tale of a friend who found one in their backpack and then had to wash the whole backpack in the washing machine, because it stunk so bad.
Fuss spent the rest of our outing expressing his worry over stink bugs, and the friend's backpack, and every other arrangement of concerns imaginable, provided they involved a stinkbug in some capacity.
In the process of explaining the stink bug threat to mama upon our return, he gifted us with this gem:
"He...He got grossed, he got STINKED."
So, everyone look out for stink bugs or you might end up like that poor sod.
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