“There is a vegetarian bud-lah living under my bed,” says Primo in the car, on our way home from chowing down pierogies at Veselka.
“A what?” I reply.
“A vegetarian budlah living under my bed,” he repeats.
“A vegetarian what?”
“Buuuuuud-lah”
“A bird lore?”
“BUDLAH!”
“Butt lure?”
“Budlah budlah, Mommy, a vegetarian budlah.”
“Is this a real word or one you made up?”
“It’s a real word! The person who brings you things!”
And then I realize what he’s been saying this whole time, pretty clearly, is “butler.”
“There is a vegetarian butler living under your bed?”
“Yes!” he says, relieved.
Then David and I laughed so hard it hurt. And Primo laughed too.
“That sounds FANTASTIC!” I said, “I’d love to have a vegetarian butler living under my bed.”
“You would?”
“Absolutely. Its just the thing we need in our new place.”
I'm not joking, either. So if you know a good non-meat-eating butler who works for free , , ,
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