Stumped by a 2-year-old

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to mention my son.

He’s 2. Oh, and he’s the coolest thing in the world (running neck and neck with his mom).

It’s a breakfast ritual that my son always wants to have some “Daddy juice” — which is nine times out of 10 a mixture of orange and cranberry juice (minus the vodka, madras fans).

He loves to take big sips from a big glass. It’s just one of those little things that is fun to watch.

Well, this morning, I threw him for a little loop — unintentionally, of course.

I had run out of cranberry, so my glass was full of just orange juice — or so I thought.

“Daddy yellow juice. Daddy yellow juice.”

“Would you like to try some,” I asked.

“Pllllllleeeeease,” he responded. “Daddy yellow juice.”

I told him that this wasn’t the usual concotion that this was just orange juice.

“No, Daddy yellow juice,” he said stating the obvious.

I couldn’t really disagree with him. I had new juice and, despite its name, it was yellow.

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