A couple days ago Clay and I were outside working on the chicken coop. Uh, wait. I mean, I was watching Clay working on the chicken coop, but I did have on a pair of gloves, so I was prepared to help at a moments notice.
Then this conversation started and we spent the next three days holding our sides trying to overcome the ache from our fit of hysterics.
Me- I'm so glad Dad gave us that old wool berer.
Clay- (turning to me with wide eyes and a stupid grin) What was that you said? Wool berrrrrr? Did you mean wheel barrel?
Me- No! And it's not a wool barrel. It's a will burrow.
Clay- Wheel barrel. Say, wheeeeeel.
Me- Will, wool, woooool.
Clay- No wheeeee, wheeeel.
Me- I'm not saying that and it's not a barrel. It's a barrow, like the donkey. You know a barrow.
Clay- I think you mean burrow. And it's a wheel barrel. Not wool berrer. I'll chalk it up to growing up in western Kansas.
Me- Wheel. See? I can say it just fine. I just happen to have an accent, a western Kansas accent.
Clay- Or a speech impediment.
Me- Well, at least I know it's NOT a wheeeeel barrel. Dummy.
Clay- But, it's certainly NOT a wheel burrow either.
Me- I said barrow and I think that must have come from burrow. Right?
Clay- You may have come from a burrow.
Me- You're hilarious.
Clay- Wish you would have thought of that one first, huh?
Clay- (shaking his head, laughing) Wool berrer. Oh, April, that's a good one.
Then to prove who was right we spent a few minutes googling wheel barrow and wheel barrel and guess who was more correct, despite the speech impediment?