Yesterday, as I was doing the dishes, my son came up to me and started making funny sounds: "Vrooom, brrrrrm,brmmm, vroommmmmmm!"
I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. "Bubba, I can't understand a word you're saying."
"Brrmmmmmm, Barooooommmm, Vroooommmmm!"
I shook my head. "Dude, if you want to have a conversation with me, you need to speak a coherent language."
"But, Mama, I am speaking a language. It's motorcycle!"
Oh. Of course.