My wife loves the Food Network. Whether it’s Diners, Drive-ins & Dives or that show with the old Double Dare host from Nickelodeon in the 80s, she just can’t get enough of it. Me? I like one show. Everyday Italian, hosted by the one, the only, the BEAUTIFUL Giada De Laurentiis.
MJ nicknames Giada “The Skinny Guinea.” I have a simpler and baser nickname for her. One that gets straight to the heart of the matter. I call her “Chef Titties.” It may not rhyme, but it accurately and succinctly portrays what it is I admire about her. In addition to her cooking, of course.
So when MJ was flipping through the channels and suddenly landed on Giada, I was ecstatic. She was blessing my glowing box that day with a tight, v-neck sweater that was showing plenty of cleavage. MJ said they were bigger and more robust than normal because she had just given birth not too long ago. Hallelujah for swollen post-baby boobs. But I digress.
As you all know by now, I don’t do a lot of thinking or filtering before my thoughts make their way down from my neanderthal brain to my cretin lips. That’s why instead of saying “Oh look, it’s Giada making another wholesome family meal that perhaps we can get the recipe for and enjoy later tonight,” I said something entirely different.
“Hot damn, it’s Chef Titties!” I exclaimed to no one in particular. I’m a regular poet right?
What I wasn’t expecting was for my 19-month-old son, who was playing with his toys in the living room, to all of a sudden join in the conversation. But at that moment he stopped playing, looked at me, looked at the TV, and then opened his preciously innocent little mouth to say:
I’m not sure my paltry words can adequately describe the glare of death I received from my wife at that exact moment in time. But I’m pretty sure it was something similar to this:
People — my wife included — have been telling me I need to watch what I say around Will at this age because he’s going to start repeating things. Well, looks like I ignored all the warnings and found out the hard way. But seeing as how I’m a damn fine parent I did the most reasonable thing I could think of at the moment.
I started laughing hysterically.
Seriously, I cracked the fuck up. Here’s this cute little toddler with the face of an angel, and he’s merrily chirping the word “TITTIES!” over and over again. If I was getting the look of death before, MJ became downright homicidal at this point. And I know laughing was not the best thing to do because it encourages him, but c’mon…how can you not laugh? After all, he doesn’t know what the hell titties are. I don’t think he does at least. Although he sure likes to grab at them whenever he gets the opportunity. But I digress.
The lesson I took away from it (other than kids swearing and saying other inappropriate words is hilarious) is that I really do need to watch what I say, because he is repeating everything. The kid knows what an iPod is and he walks around pointing to it saying “Ipaw, Ipaw!” And when you ask him to say something, there’s a better than 50% chance he can do it.
That worries me. Because if he really is going to repeat the things he hears most often from his parents, this is a partial list of what his next words and phrases might be:
“What the hell?”
“Son of a Bitch.”
“Are the Patriots ever gonna play some fucking defense this year?!?”
It’s a loving, caring and compassionate household in which we’re raising him. Can’t you tell?