the drunken cyclist

The family and I are in Slovenia for a couple of weeks, and as I sometimes do while traveling, I revisit a Sundays Are For Sebastian. This comes from about five years ago when Seba was twelve. Sebastian is my twelve-year-old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people. Sebastian had an assignment for school for which he had to ask his parents their blood types. Me: “AB+” His mother: “B+” Nathan (who had overheard the conversation): “What am I?” Sebastian (without missing a beat): “A loser.”