Tweet Last night I went to watch Big V play softball. Although it was a late game, enough little kids were there to make me think school hadn't been let out yet. Sitting in front of me were three girls who looked in their early twenties. Two were sucking down cigarettes like it was their only life force. The one in the middle was going on and on about how she just found out she was pregnant two days ago and she and her boyfriend were going to call the baby "Gummy Bear" - because that's about the size it is right now. I figured out who the boyfriend was pretty easily: She'd scream "Go Gummy Daddy!" every time he was up to bat.
I wondered if I should cheer loudly for V to show my support, love and excitement, but couldn't quite get myself geared up to scream, "That's right Cletus's Daddy! You smack that ball!"
As I was coming up with more and more obnoxious cheers (obviously meant to purely embarrass the hell out of V ... things like, "Whack it hard, Big Daddy!" and "Swing it like you mean it!") a little boy I would place around five came running up to cig-sucker #1, crying out, "Maaahhhhh!!!! Aidan called me a little F-er!" to which cig-sucker replied equally as loud, "Oh, Jesus Christ!"
Little Aidan was called over (perhaps 3 years old?) and climbed in mom's lap.
Mom: Did you call your brother a little F-er?
Mom: We don't call names like that.
Aidan: I know - but I didn't say he was a piece of crap.
Heck, if this is my competition it looks like perhaps I could be in the running for Mother of the Year after all!