I mentioned on Friday that the boys and I went to lunch with my mom, sister, and niece. We don't get together very often, even though we live within 10 miles of each other. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter are out main social scenes.
To appreciate the beauty of the story I'm about to tell, you must understand that my sister and I led a very sheltered life. Bear Grylls himself could not provide us with better shelter. Swearing was not permitted in our home, or by people around us. We never spoke the words butt, or pee, or fart, or poop. Those were bad words, by cracky! My mom and dad would not even say the word beer. Oh, they imbibed, all right. During the dog days of summer, with an evening Cardinals game on TV, ideally pitched by Bob Gibson, my dad could be heard, once a year, hollering from the family room upstairs to the kitchen to my mother, "Hey, Mom. Would you like to split a cold one?" That's it. They shared one beer, once a year. The other five sat in the refrigerator until they were thrown out.
After our Pizza Hut buffet feast, as we sat reminiscing about dropping the #1 son on his head, (twice), my 21-year-old niece remembered an incident from her early elementary years. Please note that My Sister, The Former-Mayor's Wife, is a kindergarten teacher. So anything extraordinary that her children accomplished was immediately brought to her attention by her colleagues.
Niece explained how she really liked her teacher that year. They bonded. She wanted to be just like Teacher. So she did what any infatuated little girl with free time would do, and drew a picture for Teacher. The little artist rendered a masterpiece of herself and Teacher holding hands. Teacher was big, and Niece was little. They wore identical dresses and carried matching purses. To show off her mad spelling skillz, Niece had labeled the picture before presenting it to Teacher. An arrow pointed to her head, and was labeled head. Another arrow pointed to her arm, and was labeled arm. The last arrow pointed to her leg.
It was labeled tits.