The wee one just came up to me, grinned and said, "Get me a juicebox, dee-otch."
"Excuse me?" I said, eyes narrowing.
He laughed merrily. "Get me a juicebox, dee-otch!"
Oh no he di’int.
"Where did you hear that?" I demanded, struggling against my instinct to correct his pronunciation.
"In the movie with the robot."
I briefly debate blowing it off and telling him it’s "Please get me a juicebox, dee-otch." But then I worry he may say this to someone else one day and they won’t think it’s as funny as I do.
So the movie with the robot goes on the shelf for a while.
I know, I know. That’s a real dee-otchy thing to do. Alas.