Yesterday evening as Laylee evacuated her bowels prior to retiring for the night to her bedchamber, she informed me that she was “goin’ to the pod.”
Me:Â Oh, really?
Laylee: Yeah, I’m goin’ to the “pod” because, well, I’m sitting on the pod-EE. So, it’s like I’m goin’ to the “pod.” Yeah, it’s like that.Â
I will grant you that around our abode, I frequently speak highly of Dan’s “bod” and it only stands to reason that over time, she would pick up this colloquial abbreviation and begin to incorporate it into casual speech with her peers. However, she seems quite puerile to be adapting adult lexicon in such a creative fashion.
On that self-same day, she had me quite enraptured with a detailed treatise on the etiquette of flatulence and the spasmodic ejection of stomach gases. According to Laylee’s hypothesis, the idiom “excuse me” must only be directed at a specific personage if the nature of the emission is noxious in its pungency. Otherwise, the plea for pardon should merely be expressed to the world as a whole, no actual apology being needful as no one person has received harm.
We live near Seattle. We’re close enough that the commute is decent but far enough into the nowhere that we’d be more likely to go cow-tipping than clubbing on a typical Thursday night. 
