Legs

Connor scratched his leg.

Nothing serious. Just a large surface scratch. I washed it off and kissed it. It was too big for a band-aid and it wasn't bleeding, so we skipped that step.

But for the remainder of the afternoon, Connor kept telling me his leg was bleeding.

"It's not bleeding," I'd insist.

"Yes it is. I need a band-aid."

After about the fourth or fifth time, I replied jokingly: "I guess we'll just have to cut it off."

Lee chimed it: "What do you think about that, Connor? What if we just cut it off?"

Connor looked confused. "But I need my legs."

"Why do you need your legs?" I asked.

Connor thought about it for a minute, then replied, "Because they make my feet hook up."