Every night, after bath time, when I am drying The Diva off, I tell her to raise her arms up and then I tickle her under her arms. Last night when I did this, The Diva said, "When I tickle Uncle Ronnie like that, he laughs and laughs." I froze in panic. The Diva doesn't have an Uncle Ronnie. We don't know anyone named Ronnie. I started racking my brain as to who could have been around my child for her to be tickling them underneath their arms. So I took a breath and asked her who Uncle Ronnie was.
The Diva: He's my friend
Me: Where did you meet Uncle Ronnie?
The Diva: At a restaurant. We were eating phones.
Me: How old is Uncle Ronnie?
The Diva: He's 40 years old.
Me: What does he look like?
The Diva: He's a big, big man, and he has sprinkles in his hair.
Me: What kind of sprinkles?
The Diva: Chocolate sprinkles.
Me: Where does he live?
The Diva: At home, with his mom and dad.
Me: What do you and Uncle Ronnie do?
The Diva: We like to take baths together.
So let's recap, shall we? My 3 year old daughter's imaginary friend is a large, ticklish, phone-eating middle-aged man who lives at home with his parents. And he likes baths. Where in the world does she get this stuff?