July 7, 2008
Yesterday afternoon I was lying in the grass at our local lakefront park, pondering the meaning of life and watching the clouds roll by. Jared on the other hand, was wedged into a port-a-potty attempting to clean up James's latest mishap without the assistance of running water. Not a bad deal if I do say so myself.
Just as I was trying to decide whether a particular cloud looked more like a pony or a minivan, I was snapped back into reality by a loud and intricate string of serious swear words. I sat up, scanned the horizon for the culprit, and quickly laid eyes upon the guilty party: a teenage ghetto-hick.
In case you're unfamiliar, a ghetto-hick is a country-person who speaks, dresses, and attempts to act like an inner-city gangster. The primary difference lies in the fact that they must take routine breaks from "ballin' with da homies" to feed the goats on their grandma's farm, attend 4H meetings, and scrub their graffiti from the barn doors.
This particular ghetto-hick was about seventeen years old, wore a blingy hat that was perfectly crooked, and from what I could gather, he had just been dumped.
He was all, "Eff her that effing b-word! She's gonna drive me effing insane! I'M EFFING INSANE! Do you see me?! I'm effing losing my effing mind! Eff her. EFF HER!"
After sixty straight seconds of listening to many variations on the eff-word, I had my fill. I took a deep breath, mentally reviewed some key moves from my TaeBoShred video, and walked toward the potty mouth. I was primed to put an end to that speak, because the last thing I need is a three-year-old with an extra-spicy vernacular.
Just as I got to my feet, the perp was all, "I'M EFFING CRAZY, DUDE. SHE EFFING MADE ME EFFING INSANE!" And with that proclamation, he planted one foot on a guard rail, hurled himself into the air, smacked his head on a traffic sign, fell, landed with the guard rail up his schnuts, and rolled into the lake.
One eighth of a second later he emerged, obviously soaking wet. And without missing a beat he emptied out both high top sneakers, crookeded his hat, rung out the front of his shirt, and kept on bobbing down the sidewalk.
And just like that, the swearing stopped.