Proof that my youngest child is, in fact, forty-five:
He likes goat cheese and discussing politics.
He enjoys tea and wants to start collecting handmade teacups.
He loves showtunes, and knows the words to nearly as many of them as I do.
He saw Titanic before I did.*
He has a large and somewhat esoteric vocabulary, at least for his alleged chronological age.**
And the final proof? This morning he said he wanted a shiatsu massage chair for Christmas.
* Titanic came on television, and he came in the room. “I can tell you how it ends,” I smirked. “The boat sinks.” “The boat sinks,” he replied gravely, “and the man she is in love with…..[not revealed here in case someone hasn’t seen the movie]. I’ve seen this already.” And he left the room, leaving me speechless. I’m still not sure where he saw the movie.
** He has a passion for monotremes, and it confuses his grade school teachers, several of whom did not know what a monotreme was. (They do now.) He is especially fond of echidnas, and wants to own one when he grows up.