Hypoglycemia = long, strange trips in conversation. Take long time Bigfoot realize why fall into cuckoo rabbit hole @bedtime this weekend:
BUBS: Do you think I’ll live to see the tricentennial?
BIGFOOT: Hmm. How old will you be?
BUBS: I don’t know
BFOOT: Well, that will be in 2076—oh, yeah. You’ll be alive. You’ll only be 73!
BUBS: What about you?
BF: I’d be 105. So probably not. I hope not. I don’t think I’d like to live that long
B: Mama, is baldness (covers mouth with duvet)…genetic?
BF: I think for the most part it is. Yes
B: Do you think I’ll be bald?
BF: No. They say you’ll have the same kind of hair or baldness as your mom’s dad. So you’ll be like Grandpa Bob. Not bald at all
B: Do you think I’ll have to have chemotherapy and get bald from that?
B: Because I already have a disease, so I probably can’t get cancer, right?
BF: Well, anyone can get cancer, but I don’t think you’ll get cancer. That seems extremely unlikely
B: Do you think Rogaine works on bald men?
BF: No, not really.
B: Do you think Rogaine will work on bald men in time for the tricentennial?
BF: I guess it might. Maybe. There’s already something people can put on their eyelids to help their eyelashes grow, so maybe they will invent a version of that for the whole head
B: Well if I get bald, and Rogaine doesn’t work yet, could I have surgery to help me grow hair?
BF: There is a surgery some bald men get, but it usually looks kind of weird. And if you were bald from chemotherapy, you probably couldn’t have hair surgery right away, and remember X? He had the surgery to put hair on bald spots, and it looked really bad
B: I really don’t want to be bald for the tricentenial
BF: I think when you’re in your 70’s, you’ll have very nice hair and—
DEX: Zzzzt! Zzzzt! Zzzzt! Zzzzt!
B: It says I’m 46, with the arrow going diagonally down