The other day, my niece and nephew visited at my house for an hour or so. And, at one point, when I ventured into the living room, Younger and my nephew were twisted into a wrestling knot, with one of Younger’s socked feet in the vicinity of my nephew’s nose.
“Is Younger making you smell his feet?” I asked. “I think that may be a bit of foul play.”
And I turned to leave them to burn their excessive energy through their tussling, except I heard my nephew crow, “Smell that!”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw he had wiggled until he could shove one sole against Younger’s face.
Still working to twist my nephew into his own particular design, Younger remained unbothered by the younger boy’s attempt to influence his behavior through smell. “No problem,” Younger assured him, his voice sufficiently bored. “I spend hours every day in a football locker room. Trust me, your foot right there is a meadow of rainbows and daisies.”
Nice to know I’m raising a connoisseur.