The Brawn has been on fire recently. In addition to his spelling phase, he's been trying to subtly expand his vocabulary. (One suspects having sisters talking about the patriarchal society paradigm may have something to do with it.)
So last night he comes back to his room to get dressed, but is surprised to find me already there. He startles visibly. A minute later, as he's pulling on his ninja pajamas, he says casually, unaware of the curare-tipped dart he has just thrown straight into my chest. "You intimidate me, Dad."
"I do?"
"Yeah," he says, not seeming terribly intimidated as he tries and fails to throw his socks into the laundry basket.
He starts riffling through a stack of books until he finds the one he wants (Shazam!: The Monster Society of Evil, a book he's been semi-obsessed with for the past week). He climbs into bed and flops his feet down heavily on top of the bedspread. It either sounds or feels satisfying, so he does it again, and then a third time.
"Intimidate does mean 'scare,' right?" he asks.
"Yeah, that's sorta what it means, roughly."
He nods as he opens the book. "You intimidated me when I came in."
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