…before I forget it happened.

Two of the boy’s great-aunts (my aunts, in other words) were in town this weekend while he was spending the night at Grandma and Grandpa’s, and one of them brought a big bag full of games and toys that her grandson has outgrown to give him.

One of them is a neat little anatomy puzzle, four layers deep, where the top layer is a clothed boy, the layer underneath has no clothes, the layer under that has no skin (in other words, just the muscles), then the organs, and then the final layer is the skeleton.  The skeleton isn’t a puzzle, it’s just printed on the frame that contains everything else.

The puzzle is obviously European.  The instructions on the back of the box are printed in six different languages, and the naked boy on level 2 is anatomically accurate.  Now, I don’t give a damn about the boy having a puzzle with a cartoon penis on it.  He has a real penis he can look at whenever he wants; there will be no damage done to him by looking at a cartoon penis.

I am enough of a juvenile, however, that I was in tears laughing when, just now, after having put the puzzle together, he brought it to me and informed me that it was missing a piece:

We found the piece, by the way.