Deep Thoughts with Forrest #7

Jeff was helping Forrest get ready for bed, and pointed out his post-bath pruny toes.
Jeff: Look at your toes! They’re all wrinkly, like an old man’s toes. Just like mine.
Forrest: (with a look of horror on his face) . . . am I a daddy now?
Jeff: What?
Forrest: My toes are like your toes so I am a daddy now. (with tears in his eyes) I don’t want to be a daddy!

Jeff pulled one of my hairs off Forrest’s shirt, aaaand:
Jeff: Hey, what’s this?
Forrest: It’s a Mama hair. Is Mama’s hair falling out?
Jeff: Looks like it. Will Mama be a boy if her hair falls out?
Forrest: No, boys have hair.
Jeff: Well, what will she be, then?
Forrest: Mama will be a monster.
Further conversation revealed that he was not being rude—he was referring to the hairless reptilian monsters of Monsters, Inc. I guess he basically sees me as Randall in a wig. Encouraging.

Completely out of the blue.
Forrest: I don’t fink I want Daw-see to be my sister anymore.

Jeff recently joked while we were out for an evening walk that we’d better hurry home before it got dark and the hoodlums came out. A few days later Jeff was staying late at work, and Forrest asked where he was.
Me: Daddy has to work late tonight. He won’t be home until after you’re asleep and it’s dark outside.
Forrest: Oh no!!! That’s vewwy bad news!!!
Me: Why?
Forrest: If he is out at night and it is dark, the hoodlums will come into his office and get him!!

Our electrician, Mark, was over recently updating some light fixtures, and Forrest was absolutely desperate to ‘help’ him (more like chatter at him incessantly, roughly 5000 words per minute). I told him Mark didn’t need his help, and Forrest shouldn’t bother him, and he sulked for awhile before coming up with a brilliant plan to get past me and talk to him.
Forrest: I weally want to tell somebody all about my day at preschool today.
Me: Leave Mark alone.
Forrest: (offended) I didn’t say Mark!!! I said somebody!!!
Me: Okay, who did you have in mind?
Forrest: (tapping chin thoughtfully) Hmm, well, I fink Mark looks like he would like to hear about preschool.

I think they’re doing a lot of ‘what letter does this word start with?’ at preschool, because Forrest keeps coming up with the most random letter starts (clearly, he’s a total rock star at preschool, top of his class). For instance,
Forrest: Hey Mama, do you know what sound starts Wednesday?
Me: No, what?
Forrest: We can twy it together. It’s W-W-W-W-Wednesday. So what letter does it start with?
Me: Hmmm. It sounds like a W to me.
Forrest: No, that is not wight, but that was a vewwy good try. It’s W-W-W-Wednesday, and it starts with the letter W-W-W-kangaroo.
Me:

On our way to the grocery store, where I always buy him a donut if he behaves.
Me: Make sure to behave nicely at the store—if you’re a really good boy, you’ll get your special treat.
Forrest: What is my tweat?!?
Me: We get it every time. It starts with a D. D-D-D . . . (waiting for him to finish it for me)
Forrest: (blank stare)
Me: Do . . . dooooo . . .
Forrest: . . . bwoccoli? I don’t weally want that.

While watching a movie, he noticed the subtitles were turned on.
Forrest: Oh Mama!! Makes those words go away!! They are disgusting to me.