Speaking of cooking…

We sit down for dinner last night (it was my turn to cook, so naturally I ran to On the Border for take-out)

My daughter sits next to me, most nights. No sooner did we pull everything out of the bag…

“I want some diarrhea.”

“Excuse me?”

“please!”

(now I’m confused, but what else is new)

“I want some diarrhea!” she nearly shouted, laughing.

(I’m giving her a look. I think. I cannot figure out what she is talking about)

“Please can I have some of your diarrhea?” Only this time she points. At my quesadilla.