My friend Christie was in town this weekend with her three year-old son, Blake. I believe that little boys need to be picked on, so I did so. All weekend.

"You're a knucklehead," I'd say.

"You're a knucklehead," Blake would respond.

"If the knuckleheads got together to choose a king, they'd choose you," I told him.

"No!"

We did that all weekend.

Before Christie and Blake left Sunday morning I overheard him talking to his mother. He was holding the watering can I use on my pepper plants.

"I need to take this home with me because I don't have one," Blake said.

"Well," Christie said, "it's Harold's. You'll have to ask him."