All of us are in the car, driving to 4th of July festivities last week, when suddenly Shmoogie shrieks like she's just seen a tarantula climbing over the back seat.
Turns out, she's seen a mosquito.
Both she and Mr. P (but mostly Mr. P) try to kill it for a while, but the flailing soon subsides. Then comes a classic injured-Shmoogie wail. "He's telling the mosquitoes to come bite me!"
"That's ridiculous. Mr. P cannot talk to mosquitoes. No one can talk to mosquitoes."
Moments pass, then more wailing. "He's telling them to come bite my neck!!"
"Well then," Mr. Right is inspired, "They're going to go bite him instead because he's talking and that's how mosquitoes find you, by smelling your breath."
There is a stunned silence - briefly - from the back seat. And then Mr. P can't help himself whispering more commands to his imaginary legions of trained mosquitoes.
Later, we're playing at the park, waiting for fireworks, which don't start until 10:20, on account of it being daylight so late. And Mr. P complains that there's a boy who's being really mean to Shmoogie. We say maybe he should tell the mean kid that he can control mosquitoes.
Full of excitement, he rushes back onto the play structure, declaring, "I can control mosquitoes!" He adds, in a pleasant yet gleeful tone, "I can have them attack you if you'd like!" Just to make the point clear, you know.