"Papa!" (We're having our bed-time conversation, usually held as I'm trying to close the door and Josiah's trying to delay me closing the door). "Yeah, Josiah?" "My nose is three!" "What?" "My nose is three! If I take off my nose and throw it, it will be a three!" "What?" I open the door wider, shedding a little more light on the very confusing assertion made by my son. "My nose is three!" he insists, as I can now make out that he's tracing around the bottom of his nostrils in, indeed, the shape of a 3. I find myself agreeing with the outlandish assertion. "You're right, buddy. Your nose is a three." I'm pretty sure it is a sign of genius to find numbers on the body at his tender young age.