Since some (or one) of you have asked, here’s a rough draft from a year ago. This is why we can’t have nice things.:
For this post I will need a life-line. A life-vest. And, probably the Coast Guard.
Mommy is heading off to a Bingo game at a local Catholic church school. I am driving Isabella to gymnastics (she’s 9, by the way).
The pre-practice snack: Pirate Booty.
Iz: Daddy, I’ve finished the Pirate Booty. What is Booty anyway?
Me: Well, popcorn, cheese and salt.
Iz: No, I mean “Booty.” What does that even mean?
[You see how innocently things start.]
Me: It was a term that Pirates used to mean “treasure.”
Iz: Oh, Booty is a Prize? So is Mommy trying to get some Booty tonight at Bingo?
Me: Um…. No, I hope not, but Yes.. I hope so.
[You see me now, squirming. Asking for a life-line.]
Iz: I’m confused.
Me (under my breath): That’s the idea.
Iz: What is booty?
Me: Well, in Pirate days, booty was gold and silver. Stuff they stole.
Iz: But… What about Butts. What’s that about. Butt. But. ‘bout. Hahaha.
[Reminder, we’re in a car. Driving. Highway speeds.]
Me: Nowadays, Booty means Butt. I don’t know how that happened, but Booty means Butt.
Iz: So, you are a butt?
Me: Yes. I guess. Are we good?
Iz: No, wait.
[I’m needing that life-vest about now…]
Iz: Why would someone want your booty?
Me: Trust me, no one wants my booty.
Me: [snap] (Good one)
Iz: But you wanted Mommy’s, right? Her booty.
Kill me now.