My Aunt Patty loves to tell adorable little anecdotes about my childhood. She and I have that in common. Here goes.

When I was three years old, I approached my mother and my aunt with what I certainly thought was some information they couldn’t live another day without knowing.

“Buell is naughty,” I said definitively.

“Wwwhat?” they replied, laughing. [Because it’s always a good idea to laugh at a three-year-old who is trying to share something with you that is earth-shattering to her. Builds character and all.]

I repeated, “Buell is naughty.”

My aunt tried to decipher my message, “BILL is naughty?” (Because I had an uncle named Bill.)

“Noooo, not BILL. BUELL,” I responded impatiently. (Because Uncle Bill was not, to my knowledge, naughty.)

My mom gave it a shot, “BEULAH is naughty?” (Because my Grandma Jean had a close friend named Beulah. Also not naughty.)

Exasperated, I decided to spell it out for them.

“Noooo, Buell. You know, like buell-shit.”

And while I’m told they laughed pretty hard in the moment I’m fairly confident my dad got an ass-chewing after work that night.