Holes

So another one of Luke's fascinations is holes.  I have a favorite pair of jeans that I've worn about every other day for the past 3 years.  (Yes!  I need new clothes, but that is a whole other topic-- and what feels like light-years away!)  Anyway, when I wear them-- because I still do-- Luke can't leave the hole alone.  He pulls at it, pokes at it, talks about it, etc.  If his socks get even the tiniest hole I have to throw them away because he will pull his shoe off to poke at, pull at, fiddle with his hole.  For some reason he thinks holes are totally cool.

Well, yesterday we were at Wal-mart.  I was loading groceries onto the belt and turned around to find Luke-- for once!-- not pestering the cashier about whether or not she had a fan.  No, no, he was laying on the floor staring at the lady behind us.  I couldn't figure it out.  So I asked him what he was doing.  He replied (VERY LOUDLY), "I'm looking at that lady's holes!"  

It's one of those moments when you are absolutely dumbfounded as to what you should say.  So I didn't say anything at first.  I looked at the lady, who looked something like this:

And then I just laughed.  Luckily the nice lady did too.  She looked at Luke who was inching closer and closer across the floor, almost nose to her knee, and asked, "It looks like I've been through a war, doesn't it?"