My youngest son's expression was one of man who has seen too much.
"I think he had a bad dream," Cake tells us.
"Dere were Cheetos on my wight," Owen pipes in, sniffling. "Dey fewl on me and bited my skin off."
Jesus Christ those were vicious, vicious, cheese puffs.
I'm like 99% sure he meant that there were cheetahs on his light, which, while not making a whole like more sense, at least doesn't make me want to burst out laughing in the face of my obviously traumatized son.
Parenting. It's a delicate line we walk. Between scarring the children by using them strictly for entertainment value and squeezing every last bit of enjoyment out of the little buggers.