This is exactly why I married him

A moment in our kitchen:

B looks in the fridge for the peanut butter, to make Monkey's sandwich. (And here I must pause and give thanks to the man who hates peanut butter in all its forms and yet is willing to slather it on bread twice daily, or as often as necessary, without complaint, just to keep his ingrate son happy/fed.) He calls out to me as I sit sub-Mabel in the other room.

"Dónde está el ... [searches his internal Spanish vocab for the word for butter] burro de ...?"

While he's still thinking about what the word for peanut might be (cacahuete, dear), we both note that he's used the Italian word for butter, which actually means "donkey" in Spanish, and, from our respective rooms, start to laugh.

Monkey asks what's so funny.

"Nothing." For my benefit: "Tastes like ass."

"What? What tastes like ass? Tell me. Tastes like ass?" 

Oh dear.