He can't get it up!" Richard is exultant...
Oh God. This is how rumors start. This is how misunderstandings happen and archdukes get shot and world wars begin.
"Listen, both of you!" I say fiercely. "Lottie has said nothing whatsoever to me about anything being up...or down."
"Mine is up," volunteers Noah matter-of-factly, and I gasp in horror before I can stop myself.
OK, Fliss. Don't overreact. Be cool. Be an enlightened parent.
"Really, darling? Gosh. Well." My cheeks have flamed. Both men are waiting with expressions of glee. "That's...that's interesting, sweetheart. Maybe we'll have a little talk about it later. Our bodies do wonderful, mysterious things, but we don't always talk about them in public." I give a meaningful look to Richard.
Noah seems perplexed. "But the lady talked about it. She told me to put it up."
"What?" I stare at him in confusion.
"For takeoff. 'Put your tray table up."
"Oh." I gulp. "Oh, I see. Your tray table." I can feel a snort of mirth rising.
"Poor Uncle Ben's tray table doesn't go up," says Richard, deadpan.
