Why do I have a feeling that in your garden shed, under the floor, is a secret room with a little bed, an old Nintendo and some lovely snacks and a little odd potato child, half spud half Scott with a stocking on his head like a little cap with a shock of ginger hair sticking out of it...I hope you feed him well, your potato sock son, when one considers his passage into being...I wonder if he will still grant wishes, this potato boy? Is he like a golden goose with endless eggs or is it 3 wishes and I'll become a real boy (or a potato depending on the state of the world which might be the better)
Life must never be dull round yours :) @meesterboom
Perhaps the very creation of the little potato boy was the magic of the wish and there is no more left to give?
Haha, I think you are by far the better seasoned story teller than me!