is that a chipmunk in your pants?

Dude, I am so serious.

I was sitting on the front porch, admiring the mudpatch in the front used-to-be yard, eating a king-sized Snickers ice cream bar, when my Lartian appeared around the corner of the house. He is, shall we say fashionably challenged, but managed to find an old red teeball shirt to stuff hap-hazardly into his red shorts this morning. He did good today, even with his white socks pulled stretched all the way up to his knees. He was running around the yard like a loon in good Lartian custom so his baby cheeks were a rosy pink. With all this red going on, it was hard not to notice the critter in his pants.

Peeking out of the waistband of my son's red ensemble was his small, brown, bewhiskered, stuffed chipmunk (named Chippy, if it matters). I couldn't resist. I had to ask:

"Is that a chipmunk in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

He beamed in the way only my Lartian can, with a spark in his electric blue eyes, and a flash of a full mouth of baby teeth in that devil-smile, the one with the corners quirked up just so. Then he pulled Chippy from his holster, rubbed noses with him and tucked him back in, skee-daddling back to the "game" with the rest of the sibs.

Summer's just around the corner, which begs the question: "What kind of entertainment do you have in your pants?"