Warning: Immature Story

So we're remodeling. Our house is torn apart. Right now, the destruction has reached its apex, and after today, we begin the process on putting everything back together. Yesterday morning, a kind grandfatherly plumber cut out all our bathroom plumbing on two floors. I was on the top floor with him, going over the placement of new fixtures. To understand what I'm talking about, check out this picture: See that hole in the wall in the center? That was from an errant doorknob the day after someone ripped off the door stop. We haven't fixed it, because we didn't know if the wall was going to be ripped out. Anyway, this sets up the scene.
The plumber was in the corner with his back to me. He's measuring, when all of a sudden, there's a really loud sound: Ppppbbbbthh. I try not to react, but anyone capable of making a sound of this magnitude has extraordinary digestive capacity. Seriously, bordering on a super power. Now, I was in the line of fire. "What will he do?" I think to myself. "Will he pretend it didn't happen? Will he merely say 'excuse me'?" This is what's going through my mind when it happens again. So how did he react? Differently than I was expecting. I didn't catch what he said, but I heard the little voice that answered him. He stepped aside, and I saw a little pair of lips poking through the hole in the wall. Little L was blowing raspberries at us!
For your viewing pleasure, our nail-spiked, moldy sheet rock ridden obstacle course of death. It's a good thing it's still cold, or my boys would be tempted.