So I was driving my oldest son to seminary the other day (that's Bible study class for high-school students, who meet at the church at 6 a.m. weekdays) when he announced that he wished he were just an inch or two taller. He said that would be the perfect height for him.
Now I am not a tall person. OK, I'm not even average. But this has never bothered me, probably because I'm a woman who loves to dance. (OK, that's "a whole 'nother post for a whole 'nother day. . .)
Me: How tall are you?
Me: Are you as tall as my mom?
Jack: How tall is she?
Me: I don't know how tall she is, but I do know she has shrunk.
Jack: Great! I'm gonna be a freakin' kumquat by the time I'm old. They'll have to put a primary children's step-stool in front of the pulpit in the Conference Center! People will be like, "Look at the cute little prophet!" I'll drive a little black Geo Metro and be like, "Wow! This car is huge!"
I laughed throughout the day over the thought of a little wrinkled orange kumquat in a big black Metro. Surely he must know that the Prophet rides in the back of a limo?