Son got a watch for Christmas. Not fancy, but a large step up from the watch he had been wearing -- which was my cast off, paint-splattered, dead battery, former running-pace watch. He had used the old one with great delight to talk to Star Command. As in, push the yellow button, then lean forward and stage whisper into the face, "Yes, Star Command? What is it? What's the mer-mergency?"The other day, while wearing his new watch, he came across the old one. Carrying it over to me, he asked, "Mama, when is Noah B's birthday?"
"I don't know sweetie, why?"
"Because when it's his birthday we can give him this watch. Because I don't want it, and Sister doesn't want it, and you don't want it, and Daddy doesn't want it. So maybe we should give it to Noah B."
I'm sure his impulse was to share the Star Command Communicator. I'm not sure Noah B's mother would get that.
I think my face expressed some serious reservations. So he added hastily, "...or-rrr... maybe we could send it for junk."
"Where would we send it?" I asked.
"I don't know." He paused, then suggested helpfully, "Maybe the junk store?"
Ahh... wouldn't Noah B's family be delighted to know his potential birthday present is either a fabulous space watch or fit for the junk store? And that we can't quite tell the difference?