In The Bone Room with Miles today, Christmas shopping. He’s fascinated by everything there, of course, but flips when he sees the full-size human skeletons. Arms outstretched, revelation in his bright eyes, he points to one and calls out loudly:
“Oh my Goss, Daddy, look! That must be Miles Davis!”
I laugh. “It could be, but why do you think it has to be Miles Davis?”
Arms stretched wide, look on his face like I’m a compleat idiot: “Well, Miles Davis is dead, isn’t he?”
Music: Canned Heat :: On The Road Again
There is no Goss. ;-)
That’s wonderful. Someone gave my son a gift certificate to the bone room for his birthday, and we spent many happy hours there debating how to spend it (and he is now the proud owner of an alligator head, a rabbit pelt, a peacock feather, and a cockroach in lucite).