Billy: Mooooommmmm! My mouth hurts.

{He doesn’t have his third set of molars yet, and I checked inside his mouth to see if he was sprouting anything. Nope. And he kept pointing to his cheeks instead of his gums. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and began to assume he was delaying his schoolwork.}

Me: Well, I think it’s really bad here, Bill. I’m pretty sure this condition will kill you in 80 years.

Billy: Eighty years! I’m going to die in eighty years! Ooooh, nooooo! I’m going to die….Fritz, did you hear that? I’m going to die in eighty years!!!!

I tried not to fall off my chair from laughing.

Me: Billy, do you know how old you will be in 80 years?

Billy: No…

Me: Older than Grandpa.

Billy: Which one?

Me: Both of them.

Billy: (finally laughing at the joke) Oh! Oh! I’ll be older than Grandpa! Oh! Ha ha ha.

Dying is ok, as long as you are older than old.