I'm not pointing fingers here, but I think he takes after someone whose name rhymes with Blister Boy.
During his bout with pink eye a few weeks back, he told the guy taking our order at the Figo counter that he had pink eye. He was not contagious at this point, but I'm sure this guy was super jazzed to have the Yoys dining at his restaurant. I imagine him bringing out the hazmat suits after we were finished eating and sterilizing the hell out of that place.
Then, Big E called me a piece of plastic. Up until a few hours ago, I just chalked it up to him missing a few marbles.
What happened a few hours ago, you ask?
We were watching Toy Story 3 for the 78th time (I make a chalk mark on the inside of our armoire every time it is viewed) and Lotso called another toy a PIECE OF PLASTIC. I was so relieved. Maybe Big E isn't the weirdest person on the planet after all. (For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of watching Toy Store 3, this story will be lost on you)
But this evening he took a step towards the ominous. He looked up at me, post bath, all lavender scented and cute, and said with such seriousness:
OUR HOUSE IS GOING TO FALL TO THE GROUND.
Um, what? What did you just say?
OUR HOUSE IS GOING TO FALL INTO THE GRASS.
Thanks for that, Nostradamus. Do you know about some major earthquake slated to strike upper Georgia in the next few days? Are you some sort of early detection system?
Not that I wouldn't be ok with our house falling over. Of course, I'd like our family and pictures to not be inside when it happens, but we have insurance for everything else, and maybe we could move somewhere I felt safe in my own home.
Big E is asleep now, and I'm going on record saying if he declares any more creepy disaster predictions, I'm giving him back. To Piedmont Hospital. Or anyone else who will have him.
For the top ten Nostradamus predictions, check this out. Glad to see the ultimate destruction of the Yoy house didn't make it.