A few weeks ago, I found myself thinking about this fairly tale my dad would tell me and my brother before bed when we were kids.
(I think the "when we were kids" part is implied, don't you? I mean, it would be weird if my dad was still telling me fairly tales at 35.)
But I couldn't remember anything about the story, other than it involved three brothers named Pat, Tom and Mike, and an old man spitting on a potato.
My brother couldn't remember it either, so he e-mailed my dad. Within a few hours, we got this response from him.