There was concern uttered from the back seat. A little boy’s voice. Speaking uncertainly as our truck dipped down the hill reaching 40 mph and leaving our guts briefly suspended. Our seat belts tight.
“Oh, no,” my son said. “This road is kind of scarin’ my weanus.”
My husband and I smirked. We smothered a snicker.
Because a scared kid is one thing.
A terrified weanus, another.