I’ve debated posting this story because it contains an off-color statement. The kind of language I don’t use on this blog. Or ever.
But it. was. hilarious. So forgive the semi-use of an unsavory term. And please note that we don’t talk like this. Which may or may not make it even funnier.
Goo still has some trouble pronouncing certain words. We’re awesome at interpreting, so it’s usually not a problem. Usually.
This past weekend, the Nerd woke up and told everybody to get ready, we were going to have Saturday family breakfast at a diner. Win, because I don’t have to cook or clean. And if I make breakfast, Goo looks at it and yells, “I don’t like this kind of food!” If a random guy in a diner kitchen makes it, it’s gold on a plate. I’m not bitter.
If you’ve ever taken small children to a restaurant, you know that initial seating and ordering has a critical mass. Because if that food doesn’t get there soon enough, chaos ensues. In our mad rush to make decisions and get our order in, the following conversation took place:
Me: Punkin, you know what you want?
Punkin: Yeah. Scrambled eggs and home fries.
Nerd: Smush is going to pick off everyone’s plates?
Me: Yeah. What about Goo? (Goo was deeply focused on coloring and not paying attention at all to the conversation.)
Nerd: Let’s get her pancakes. A short stack should be fine.
Goo: I DON’T LIKE SHORT C–KS!
Nerd and I: *blank stare*
Nerd: Short stack, Goo. Stack. We’re going to get you a short stack of pancakes.
Goo: I. DON’T. LIKE. SHORT —–.
Me: Okay, okay. How about pancakes? Do you want pancakes?
Me: Okay. Pancakes it is.
Did I mention that there were a lot of people around? In very close proximity?
Normally in a scenario like this, Goo would get a stern warning about demanding, yelling, and not using her manners. But at the repeated shouting of a term that isn’t allowed on television (I think), I panicked and just wanted to shut it down.
Mediocre Mom for the win.