Little Boy Lost

My son is all about repetition. But as he gets older, his needs become more complicated, as do the scenarios he invents. A year ago, we started thusly:

Him: Mama, say "I wish I had a little boy."
Me: I wish I had a little boy.
Him: Wah! Wah! Wah!
Me: Oh, little boy! Where did you come from?
Him: I'm lost!

This would then be followed with liberal doses of snuggling and tickling. Time passed, and the drama started taking on a life of its own. It started sounding more like this:

Him: Mama, say "I wish I had a little boy."
Me: I wish I had a little boy.
Him: Wah! Wah! Wah!
Me: Oh, little boy! Where did you come from?
Him: I'm lost!
Me: Oh, you poor thing. Where are your parents?
Him: My parents died!
Me: Oh, that's sad! Would you like to come live with me?
Him: Okay!

His sad tale continued to grow, and so it was more or less on autopilot that I had the following discussion with him, this morning, as we walked home from the bus stop:

Him: Mama, say "I wish I had a little boy."
Me: I wish I had a little boy.
Him: Wah! Wah! Wah!
Me: Oh, little boy! Where did you come from?
Him: I'm lost!
Me: Oh, you poor thing. Where are your parents?
Him: My parents died!
Me: Oh, that's sad! Would you--
Him: In the flood. They died in a flood.
Me: Wow. That's very sad.
Him: And when they built our house, all that they were selling then was straw, so they built our house out of straw, and then it blew down in the storm.
Me: Goodness. So, let me get this straight. There was a storm that blew down your straw house and your parents died in a flood?
Him: Yes! Wah!
Me: My, my. Well, I'll see you around.
Him: Mama! Ask me to live with you!
Me: Oh, sorry. Okay. Would you like to come live with me, little boy?
Him: Yes. Maybe. What kinds of toys do you have?
Me: Toys? I don't have any toys. I have some rusty nails you could maybe play with.
Him: Maa-maaaaaaaaaaa!
Me: Um, I mean, I have Rescue Heroes!
Him: I like Rescue Heroes!
Me: Oh, good. But first you have to go to school. Let's go get in my car.
Him: What's school?
Me: It's where you go and get tied up and beaten all day. You'll love it.
Him: I'm just a baby, you know.
Me: Well, this'll toughen you up. Get in.

We were opening the car doors when I realized that two elderly women had been walking around our circle behind us. From the looks on their faces, they'd heard every word. They didn't seem all that amused, either.

I smiled and waved and offered them some bread pudding. They mumbled something about calling CPS and ran off. Huh.