Remember last Fridays What the... Fella at the baseball game? I have a feeling he's a permanent fixture, for the season anyway, which necessitates a nick name. I don't dare ask his real name because I just know when he says, " Wellll, muh Momma calls me Billy Bob but, muh Daddy, he calls me Bubba! And, I always say... just don't calls me late fer supper!" I'm going to pee my pants laughing which would make those metal bleachers a whole lot more uncomfortable then they usually are.
So, back to the nickname, I'm torn between Assassin or Mr. Pithy Pants. Eenie, meanie, miney, moe...I choose, Mr. Pithy pants, that way I can save the nick name Assassin for hip less folks, in too short t-shirts, everywhere.
Yesterdays ball game found Mr. Pithy pants wearing a t-shirt that said, "Heavy Weights."
Fortunately this t-shirt was a good deal longer, praise be to all that is holy. Even with all the boy parts hanging around here, I wasn't ready to see any bits of male anatomy exposed by a too short t-shirt with the warning, Heavy Weights.
And, speaking of Boy parts, the other morning #5 went to the neighbors to return a jacket left here by their son. #7 followed him outside and down the street wearing, you guessed it, nothing. Don't know what it is with that child.
#5, recognizing a tongue wagging situation in the making, took off his shirt and put it on #7. They came down to the laundry room where I was banished for the day, to tell the tale and show me their clever solution.
#7 thought he was pretty cute in his over sized t-shirt and, #5 apparently thought so as well because, later that day as I reviewed a few pictures on my camera I found a cute picture of #7 in the shirt and then a couple pictures of the parts of anatomy that the t-shirt was covering up.
Ahh, the joys of a life surrounded by men and their parts.