Maxisms, the isms of Max

Paspartout and I have just spent the weekend with friends who have a little boy called Max, and who will be three in March. I’d like to share some of the verbal gems he came out with this weekend. One or two of them have an albeit tenuous origin, but most of them appear to come right out of nowhere. The very first thing I heard when I woke up on Saturday morning, coming from down the corridor somewhere, was gem number four.

“Climb up the pooey Cullompton!”

“I smell delicious, don’t I?”

“I’m a big boy. Can I lick you?”

“Look at my willy, that’s not right.”

“No, Buddha doesn’t like banana.”

Paspartout and I have just spent the weekend with friends who have a little boy called Max, and who will be three in March. I’d like to share some of the verbal gems he came out with this weekend. One or two of them have an albeit tenuous origin, but most of them appear to come right out of nowhere.

“Climb up the pooey Cullompton!”

“I smell delicious, don’t I?”

“I’m a big boy. Can I lick you?”

“Look at my willy, that’s not right.”

“No, Buddha doesn’t like banana.”

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