Dorian and I are both coming down with some kind of creeping crud. The fever hit Dorian this evening. He's sleeping on the couch with a cool cloth on his forehead, but earlier...
Me: "C'mon, pumpkin, let's get some fluids in you."
Dorian: "Aaah! Noooo..."
Me: "What? What's wrong?"
Dorian: "You called me, 'pumpkin.' In my culture, that means I'm going to die."