This morning was pirate dress-up day at preschool.? And water play day.? I suppose the two are compatible—after all, pirates did live on ships most of their lives.? Still, I felt a little strange having my son don striped pirate breeches over his blue and orange plaid bathing suit.? I mean, what would Stacey and Clinton think?

We picked up his friend on the way, which always makes for an interesting experience.? Here are just a few scintillating snippets of conversation? from the seemingly never-ending car ride (Note:? preschool is about two minutes from my house).

“Ahoy there, you scarfy dogs!”? (These being the? scurvy dogs’ more fashionable cousins, presumably.)

“Baby sister, quit being so full of happiness!”? (Ah, a budding Morrissey.)

“Go faster, mommy, go faster!”? (He won’t be allowed to drive until he’s thirty.)

“Yeah, Miss Debra, go fast!”? (Ditto his friend.)

Son:? “We’re going faster than a walking piece of nothing!”? (I wasn’t sure if I should take offense, or? if this was some sort of preschooler existentialism.? And how exactly does this relate to pirates?)

Friend:? “We’re going faster than poop plopping down from the sky!”? (Now, that’s an analogy I haven’t heard before, but I suppose plopping sky poop would be quite speedy.? ? Though I’m still not sure what any of this has to do with pirates.? Or Gordon Lightfoot, for that matter.)

Then of course, the inevitable round of “Quit touching me!”? “No, you QUIT touching ME!”? And so on, until my head? demanded? an IV of Extra Strength Tylenol.

You know, Wordless Thursday really has a nice ring to it……

And here’s the pirate swag my son created and brought home.? I’m? thinking less swashbuckler, and more, I dunno, Liberace meets Dead or Alive, maybe?? And the apple stickers are throwing me off a little.? ?

Unless? the? pirates ate them to fight off “scarfy”:

?

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Okay, so today, I had a mini road-rage episode.? ? Due to some super-human self-restraint,? I didn’t side-swipe? the other car? or even give them a little love tap on the back bumper.? Or shoot them with an Uzi.? But I did flip them the? bird.?

Which, depending on who you are, doesn’t sound all that bad—except that my 4-yr-old son was in the car.? Luckily, he didn’t quite catch on.? His comment was, “Why are you waving at that man mommy?”?

Oh yeah, and “What does jackass mean?”? Oops.? (Although, to be fair, “jackass” was a pretty innocuous word compared to the much more satisfying choices running through my brain).

So, what happened that caused me to flaunt my middle finger so flagrantly?? Basically, the guy wouldn’t let me merge into his lane.? I had a designated freeway entrance lane that was ending, traffic was crawling, and everyone else ahead of this donkey’s bottom seemed perfectly fine with letting folks merge, one-at-a-time.? Not this joker—he deliberately sped up and cut me off —three times.? As if getting one car ahead was going to significantly chip away at his commute time.? Finally,? I honked, whipped around his sorry butt, and then went so far as to roll down the window so he could appreciate my tallest digit in all of its? glory.?

So, maybe it wasn’t the most polite thing to do.? Or the most prudent, for that matter.? But it did make me feel a heckuva lot better.? That counts for something, right?

Of course, as retribution for my transgression, I got to hear “Mommy, why was that guy a jackass?” and similar variations for the? duration of? our painfully slow drive home.

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