Some things you can never forget. Nor do you want to.
When Lindsay was about 5 years old we visited my Aunt and Uncles house in Atlanta.
This was one of our first visits since the girls were little bitty things.
We spent a great day visiting and playing. When bedtime was upon us, we sorted out our sleeping arrangements.
My Aunt and I were in the hall discussing…”Coach and I would sleep in Cuz Patrick’s room and the girls would sleep in the playroom…on the futon.”
Linds overheard us as we were looking for the sheets and extra pillows.
All of a sudden we heard a whiny/wailing voice from down the hall:
Aunt Trisha and I almost piddled in our pants…we were laughing so hard.
Linds seriously did not know what a futon was, and assumed I said Crouton.
She loves croutons, but did not want to sleep on them.
My Aunt and I assured her, she was not sleeping on a crouton.
To this day…when I come across a futon, inside I am secretly calling it a crouton.
Futon. Crouton. Tomatoe. Tomato.
I can’t even eat at a salad bar and NOT think of the crouton/futon episode.
When I have grandkids…I will surely get a crouton for them to sleep on.
And they will like it.