A Nice, Piquant After-Dinner Flavor

(Warning! Explicit Language/Rating:17+)

*For those of you who are new readers of How About Two, there is a playbill for the characters located here.

The VP has gone back to school to increase her knowledge base; which is already pretty large, what with her Master’s** in Human Resources and all. And Picasso is doing some night landscapes, so Gunslinger is in need of a sitter.

Or two.

Enter Auntie P.Pie and Uncle Rob.

So yesterday, with The VP in some class and Picasso painting, we were called in to do secondary parenting duty. I call it secondary parenting because we spend so much time with Gunslinger, we often joke that he has two sets of parents.

We played, we ate, we watch The Incredibles, we fell asleep in Auntie P.Pie’s lap. Well, not both of us, really. Just Gunslinger.

I have written about Gunslinger on several occasions. He’s a great kid that is a bundle of energy and he really loves his Uncle.

Yeah, he loves his Auntie too.

But that’s not the farging point of the post. The farging point of the post is my somanumbatching language.

I have been told by some farging iceholes that I have the mouth of a sailor.

Fortunately, Gunslinger has helped me curb my mouth. I’m always amazed at what a parrot Gunslinger can be.

We join a prose example, already in progress –

In some houses the family room was used more for guest entertaining than family living – neat, clean, and perpetually vacuumed. But not in the Picasso home. There, the family room was just that, a place where the family gathers.

Particularly Gunslinger.

Pieces of several Thomas the Tank Engine (aka Tommy the Train) sets, his entertainment du jour, were everywhere. Several Sir Topham Hatts laid face down on the floor, drunken engineers sleeping off a night of harsh revelry.

Near, around, and sometimes on top of Sir Topham Hatts were an equal number of Thomas’. Apparently Kim Jong-il’s ill-planned nuclear test left tremors that had caused Tommy and his railroad lines to crumple haphazardly about the room.

Picasso and I sat at the dining room table while Gunslinger simultaneously watched Barney and imitated Godzilla, picking up various railcars shaking them and saying, “No. Not flying, on the ground!” And the railcar left Gunslinger’s hand to crash into a stack of tracks.

“Careful, Gunny,” Picasso said over his shoulder, more out of habit than any real concern. Gunslinger paid no attention; Barney was singing. Besides, Gunslinger was a brick. Nothing can hurt him. He only cried when things weren’t going his way or he was tired.

“…so?” Picasso questioned. “What was their answer?”

“Those jerk offs said…”

“Bwes Er, Unka.” Suddenly, Gunslinger couldn't careless about Barney.

“What, Gunny?” Picasso asked.

“Er coughed, an’ I say ’bwess Er’” [Ed. Note: jerk offs, Er coughs, bless Er, see?]

…AND SCENE…

Nice mouth on me, huh? And around kids no less.

So, you see how quickly his attentions turns and what a quick study he is.

Now, back to my predicament.

How do I curb my mouth? Granted, in the two years that I’ve been around Gunslinger, I have GREATLY improved. But I would like to get even better for the twins.

I’d hate for the twins’ first words at daycare to be farging iceholes.