"...Brush Dat"

Lying in bed, leisurely enjoying a little phone conversation before tackling the nightly bedtime routine, my son crawled up next to me and laid his head down on my huge belly, smiling angelically. I smiled back and continued my conversation. Suddenly, he sat up with squinted eyes staring intently at something next to me. I gave him a questioning look and he leaned in closer to my extended arm, which I had resting behind my head on the pillow. I realized he was looking at my '7 o'clock shadow' of underarm hair.

L, with a deeply concerned look: "Mama... I tink you need to brush dat."

Oh my.