My niece picked out the book she wanted for her bedtime story. It was a small, handmade book that her class had given to her for her 6th birthday. It was bound together with yarn, each page had a drawing and happy birthday greetings by her classmates (written by the teacher). I began reading but was stumped by what a boy named Carl wrote.
Happy birthday you smell like a yummy
“What does smell like a yummy mean?” I asked.
She looked at her dimwitted uncle with a furrowed brow.
“ You know like cake.”
“He thinks you smell like cake?”
“Yes,” she said proudly