Boy Bag

“It’s a boy bag,” Danny declared the other day about the black leather, well, let’s call it a purse, sitting next to him in the back seat of the car. In it were a few toys he’d grabbed from the playroom before we headed out to watch cousin Jordan play soccer, and he’d stocked it with some money, too — he and Joey can’t hang out at the fields without buying something from the concession stand.

“Oh, a boy bag,” I responded.

“Yea,” Danny said. “Daddy told me that’s what is is.”

I totally understood.

“Well, then, that’s what it is,” I told him.

He was happy.

Until Joey scooted his booty into the vehicle and said, “Danny, why do you have a purse?”

Ouch.

The boy bag hasn’t been seen since.