"A cucumber," I answered, showing her the slice. It was supposed to be a circle, but I had not cut it straight so it was a half-moon, a green edge on one side while the white center tapered down to nothing.
I recalled that perhaps two weeks ago, "cumber" was the word for everything for Monkey2. Whatever toy, real or invisible, she was playing with, was a cumber. If she couldn't remember the name for something, it was a cumber. "Where's my cumber? Oh here's my cumber."
She took the (cu)cumber and licked it, shuddered, and gave it back. "I don want cumber."
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