Every once in a while, for no reason what so ever, I will think of the word wiener and giggle a little. Usually out loud. Usually in public. And most of the time, in an inappropriate situation.
Like just now. In the library’s silent study area.
It’s because of my husband.
Because he overhear the following conversation in the mens room at Disneyland between a father and his 5 year old son.
Son. Loudly: “Daddy. You have a huge wiener.”
Father. under his breath: grumble grumble donttalkaboutthat grumble
Son. MUCH more loudly: “But you doooo!“