The Importance of Proper GrammarSo the other day I was busy with housework, vacuuming, dusting, doing laundry, wiping cocaine from the counters -- you know, the usual -- when my boy asked me when he could go out to play. I told him that if he helped by picking up his toys, we could go out faster. Yes, terrible grammar on my part, but crack does that to a person, you realize...Anyway, my four-year-old boy, my angel, my darling phlump-nosed chicken wieners said this in response:
"No, Mommy, you're a bastard!"
Well, let me tell you, I nearly dropped my bottle of Absolut.
I was, of course, thoroughly confused as to how my son thought I'd called him a bastard when all I said was "If you pick up your toys, we can go out faster."
Did he think I'd said, "If you pick up your toys, we can go out, you bastard"? Why would he believe such a horrible thing? I've never, and I mean never called him such a terrible name. My vacuum cleaner, yes, my son, certainly not. My boy is a phlump, a Butler, a chicken wiener, a creamy white bunch of bread dough, but never a bastard.
"Sweetie, no, honey, you misunderstood -- I said that we can go out faster if you help pick up your toys."
"You're a bastard! YOU are, Mommy!"
"Angel pie! Listen to me -- I said we can go out faster! FASTER, I say!
"BASTARD! BIG MOMMY BASTARD!"
"Brandon, son, listen to Mommy..."
And on and on it went until I finally gave up, kicked my whore of a vacuum cleaner to the corner, and swept my boy out into the warm sun.