It's The Little Things...

This is the kind of banter that goes on between myself and the Impertinent One. This is the kind of skewed humor we have.

So, I'm driving her to school while the Impossible Son is trying to wake up in the back seat. The radio is on, and I'm complaining about how much my head hurts ("It feels like someone's been scrubbing the inside of my skull with a Brillo pad, for reals!" "Aw, poor Mom!"), and we've just started frantically stabbing at the radio buttons because the station we were listening to has decided to start TALKING and we want MUSIC!! The big, giant, county-sized SUV in front of us starts weaving, and we slow down. Now, it's early, we're on a very straight, non-busy street, yet this person is driving as if there are... elephants... sitting at intervals on the side of the road. Miss Priss and I look at each other and she says, "Um... maybe they're avoiding the bumps??"

Except... this road is flat, no bumps yet.

"I suspect the person in front of us is experiencing an alternate reality at the moment, honey," I said, and then I grin.

She sees it and says, "Uh-oh."

"Perhaps they're avoiding Orcs," I say.

She blinks, then says, "Well, you know, hitting Orcs with your car is the worst. I mean, the mess it makes."

"Yeah," I said. "All over your hood, your tires, it's disgusting!"

"Entrails everywhere!" she says, and snorts, trying not to laugh. "And when it dries, it's like, virtually impossible to get off, it ruins your paintjob..."

"And then there's the smell," I said, my face hurting because I'm struggling not to crack a big grin.

"You practically have to use a hammer and chisel to get them off," she offers. "Clang, clang, clang!!"

"Yeah, and man, you have to hope you don't crack your windshield."

"I KNOW!" she says. "And then, the arms get tangled in the windshield wipers every single time!! It takes forever to get them out!! You turn them on and it's like your car is waving ugly arms at people..."

"True," I said, "But you know what the worst part is?"

"What?" she asked breathlessly, eyes sparkling because she knows it's coming.

I look at her, struggling not to laugh, and manage to keep my face straight, but just barely. "The squealing."

She died laughing. "Good one, Mom!!"

The the Impossible Son, finally waking up from the back seat, chirps, "What Orcs??"

I love my kids!!!