"You know what's funny?" Firstborn asked me.
I was lying on the couch, reading on my Kindle and probably two minutes away from fading into a nap. So I said, "Clowns."
"Clowns are scary," he told me, while he switched on the Playstation and activated the controller.
"You know what's funny?" he asked again, and turned on the television.
"Kittens," I told him.
That stopped him. "Kittens are funny," he admitted. There was a long pause.
"You know what's funny, though?"
This time I said, "Puppies." I was not feeling at my most creative.
"Yes," he said. He paused again. "And now I've forgotten what I was going to say."
"Hm," I said. "You know what's funny?"
"What?" he asked.
"Distracting your son until he forgets what he was going to say." I looked back down at my book, ready to return to my reading.
That was when he came and sat down on top of me. "You know what's funny?" he asked.
"What?" I wheezed.
"Using your father as a cushion while you play your video games."
"Oh," I wheezed. "Yeah, that is funny."