[Part of it is that he figures the Fog God is old enough that she thinks they're all babies. Why distinguish between a few years when for her a few years means nothing? They'd be fighting an uphill battle to even try and explain to her that there is a difference in the first place.

By some miracle he manages not to forget by Tuesday. The miracle is that he was smart enough to write it down. Normally for this sort of thing he'd bring alcohol, but she's a little young for that so instead he's got a fresh jug of sweet tea. It's a jug that may have at one point contained alcohol but that's besides the point. That's summery, right?]

Thank goodness for that. It's no fun bein' a cold-blooded critter any other time of year.

Take your time finishin' up, I'm not in any rush.