Scene: a malt shop. The Nephew is sucking down a chocolate malt with his usual focus and absorption. As the brain freeze sets in, the Nephew pauses, looks up, and says,
“Man, that really hurts me in my solar plexus.”
(And the sick part is that he can actually tell you where and what your solar plexus is.)
Scene: later that night, the Nephew is showing off his spelling skills, and challenges Mr. Squab to spell “metamorphosis” (this is the Nephew’s spelling word par excellence). Mr. Squab, who is more of a creative type than a speller, flubs the word. The Nephew has two responses to this:
First response: “It’s a good thing you’re good at video games, because you sure aren’t good at spelling.” (This results in a conversation about different people being good at different things, along with some discussion of what the Nephew isn’t good at.)
Second response: “Uncle Squab, I’m going to give you a goal.” (I swear to god, that’s verbatim. He really talks like this.) “I want you to know how to spell metamorphosis in three months. I’ll help you!”
Can anyone be more condescending than a seven-year-old? The little snot – I sure do get a kick out of him.