Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm feeling kinda proper I suppose.
Earlier today one of the greatest things that ever happened in the history of mankind unfolded in my living room. As I'm sure you've guessed, there is more than one potty mouth who lives at our house, so in turn, the odds of my offspring carrying on the family tradition of belting out obscenities in the most inappropriate places is pretty good. I'd say it's a sure bet, in fact.
All this cussing really concerns my mother-in-law, who, by the way, has most certainly let a few "Awww....bullshit(s)" and "hell fire(s)" pass over her Jesus lovin' lips in front of the kids. In fact, absolutely nothing warms the hearts of me and my husband like when our sons repeat a curse word right after she says it. Truly, it is as heavenly as brownies fresh from the oven. But, as it is, she does help me fight the good battle of trying to persuade all the cowboys to keep the language clean and she really does want her grandsons to behave like well-mannered gentlemen.
Well, as she was in the living room with us today, Ridge was retelling some current events around the Household Little. He explained some accident he and his dad had to clean up while working with the cattle and that's when it happened. Seriously, Readers, I am putting this in the Top Ten Moments of My Life, including the days my sons were born as well as the time that Fat Albert-sized young Mexican man danced to "La Bamba" on the beach at Progresso for the bargain price of a buck. Both made my heart go pitter-patter.
With eyes bigger than half dollars, his little hands darting with excitement, he looked at his grandmother and said, "Then my daddy said, 'Motherfucker!'
Seriously, I think it shocked at least ten years off her life. Never one to want our senior citizens to leave a conversation confused, I nudged Ridge and told him to tell Grandma what Daddy said one more time.
"That's when my daddy said, 'Moothheerrfucker,' Grandma," Ridge declared.
And that's when her Southern Baptist head started spinning around like that little girl in Poltergeist. She was seriously about to go western on his little butt when I reminded her that Ridge was simply repeating the language of her darling son. After all, he's just 4, he doesn't know what words are "good" or "bad." She then flew into a rant including a detailed description of the ass whooping she was going to give her son. Ridge pointed his finger and told her that she better not whip his daddy and I thought to myself that I totally needed to step in here and help her explain that Daddy said a bad word, but my vocal cords were currently submerged with overwhelming laughter.
I know this probably isn't a good testament to my parental philosophy, but the exchange warmed my heart. You can't stop a freight train with a bb gun, right?