A lovely day in the park. Zeva is making rings out of grass shards, I am making a flag out of a stick, Victoria is rambling about how this hole we found in the ground is a secret portal to another world, but we can't fit through it, and a bird is chirp-chirpin away at an imaginary foe.
"That bird sounds awful disgruntled," I say.
"That's the truth."
"Disgruntled. What does that even mean? I mean, does that mean you can be gruntled?" this last comment comes from Victoria.
"Of course you can be gruntled." - this from me.
"But if disgruntled is a bad thing, does that make gruntled a good thing?"
"Ya."
"How is gruntled a good thing?"
"Well, if you're disgruntled, that means you're so upset that all the grunts are coming out of you - you are, as it were, dislodging the grunts from within."
"And if you're gruntled?"
"You're not angry, so all your grunts stay inside of you."
Oh.
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