“Hey, Dad, gimme twenty!”

“Twenty? How am I supposed to do that? You want my toes, too?”

 “Ha ha ha, funny one, pop-areeny!”

 “Okay, son-arama, what happened to ‘gimme five?’ Or how ’bout a regular hand shake?”

“Da-ad! That’s not what it means. Come on, think NOW.”

“Now?  Gimme twenty? Oh… of course. You are now demanding twenty dollars instead of asking?”

“No-o-o, but that’s a good idea.”

 “Not happenin’, son-aroosky.  But… how ’bout a hint?”

“Okay. You know how cheerleaders say, “Gimme a G,” or whatever they’re spelling…”

 “Yeah.”

 “Okay.  When I say, ‘Gimme twenty,’ you’re supposed to say, ‘twenty,’ you know for 2020. My ten fingers and your ten fingers.”

“Well, aren’t you the smart one.  Very clever!”

 “Yeah, it’s the only year we can do it.”

“You don’t say; but you do have 365 days.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What do you mean? That’s the number of days in a year.”

“Except in…

“OH! Right. Weep Year.”

“Weep year!”

“Wight. Weep Year for me because I got it wong.”

 “Da-ad, that is so silly.”

“I wike being silly.”

 “But you’re …too old to be silly.”

“A little secret: the older you get, the more fun it is. And another little secret: don’t call your dad, old. It’s depressing.”

“Why?  I like getting older.”

“Yeah.  Kids do, but grown-ups want the years to slow down.”

“Well, I know what you could do! You could count your age in Leap Years!”

“Terrific!  Then you and I would be the same age.”

“Oh. Well, maybe you should keep on getting old.”

“Yeah.  Maybe I should. Gimme twenty.”