This week, in adorable and hilarious things Sasha said:
"I'm allergic to nonfat milk."
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"I'm allergic to poop. No, I'm serious. I'm really really serious."
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"I hate all pies. Except for pumpkin pie."
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"I hate bananas."
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"I hate coconut."
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"I hate throw-up."
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"I hate squishy things. Except bacon."
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"I like babysitters better than nannies. But not actually babysitters and nannies. I mean the words."
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When I pick her up from school and ask how her day was: "I really hate it when you ask me that question."
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Standing in the living room with smooth jazz playing, in only her underwear and a fake pearl necklace, hands above her head, pushing out and sucking in her tummy repeatedly: "I'm a belly dancer!"
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On why, after a granola bar and a phenomenal amount of popcorn, she should be allowed to have another snack of her choosing: "But these are healthy Cheetos!"
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"Do you know where babies come out of?" [leans in close and whispers like it's a naughty thing to say] "Butts."
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On the sunny walk home from school: "My armpits are waterin'."
Hugs,
-MP
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