It wouldn’t be a road trip without an epic battle royale. Some serious knockdown drag-out shit went down on the home-stretch to the lake house.
We had just finished our second seven-hour audio book (boys’ choice, not that anyone cares what I want to listen to) and crossed the 2,000 mile mark. Zeb tuned into a funk station just in time for a thirty-minute Prince mega rock-block.
High five! It’s just what we needed to get us through the final ninety minute push!
We turned it up and rocked out in our best Prince falsettos, having a grand old time. You’d think kids would rejoice in seeing their parents happy. Testiclese got a major stick up his ass about this.
“Turn it off!” he demanded.
“What?” I said, turning it up, “I can’t hear you!”
MOM! TURN IT DOWN!
Me to Zeb, “Babe, do you hear something?”
Zeb, “Sorry, I can’t hear anything over these SICK BEATS! F-yah!”
Scrotus got all Love and Logic on me.
“If you don’t turn it off, I’m never going to kiss you again.” he threatened, “I just want you to know what’s at stake here.”
So that’s how it’s gonna be. I’m calling that bluff the next time he tries to get in bed with us, which will be in exactly two hours.
“No! I’m NOT going to turn it off because what’s at stake here is YOUR MUSICAL EDUCATION! No son of mine is going to IGNORANT of ONLY ONE OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL RECORDING ARTISTS OF OUR TIME!
“I hate this music.”
“Tough. I’m not exactly in love with everything you listen to.”
“Why not? We listen to good music.”
“Really. Like what?”
“Like that song from Phinneus and Ferb.” Keep in mind that this is an argument between a 41 year-old and her 6 and 8 year-old sons.
“For real? That song was totally influenced by His Purple Majesty!” Not really. But how the hell should they know?
Poor Blue hates it when Mommy and Daddy fight so he wedged in between us, looking all sad.
Zeb reassured him, “It’s okay big boy, we love you. You’re a good dog.”
“Yah Booey, we love you. You know what, maybe we’ll get rid of the boys and get more good dogs like you. You like Prince, unlike some people we know.”
Testicles, from the back seat, “You wouldn’t dare sell us. I know you wouldn’t.”
Me: “I don’t know, we could sell you on eBay.
Testiclese: “You won’t sell us. I’m not stupid.”
Me: “I dunno. For one, you are male and mostly white. We don’t even have to mention the Vietnamese thing, although some people are Asian centric (for good reason) and that might be a good selling point.”
Scrotus: “How am I supposed to sleep with all this arguing?”
Zeb: “I’ll do a search on the internet, I bet the going rate is pretty good.”
Me: “We could buy lots of Great Danes with the money we make. But there’s that one thing. They don’t like Prince.”
Zeb: “Hm. Good point. That might call their intelligence into question.”
Me: “Back to the drawing board.”
Are we there yet?