Paul has been looking for his razor, and when things go missing, we usually point our fingers at the youngest ginger.
Me: <Ginger4>, have you seen dad’s razor?
<Ginger4>: Dad has a laser?
Me: No, a ra-zor.
<Ginger4>: Ooooh, one of those things that trims his white whiskers??? No, don’t know where it is.
(But if you ask him where the butter knife is, he might say it’s under the chair in the living room where I found him whittling away at the chair’s legs).