I mentioned in a previous post that my son, the not-so-little-anymore Balthazar, likes to put me through my mental paces with his rapier-like wit (which is patently unkind, as I am aged and worn-down and defeated by life). Over the years I’ve made note of these ninja-like sallies, to serve as evidence of my mental deterioration and the provocation of same when I face a board of nice young men in their clean white coats.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate his sass (well, ok; I often don’t, as he’s yet to learn when to save it for when I’m not soul-crushed after yet another miserable day out in the world). It’s that he comes at me with these bizarre non sequiturs which defy my ability to retaliate in kind. For example, one day, as The Kid and I made our way home from Sunday brunch -
The Kid: Mom, you got any connections in the industry?
Me: Which industry?
The Kid: The music industry.
Me: Not that I know of.
The Kid: Does my dad?
Me: I dunno. Ask him.
The Kid: Don't wanna ask him.
Me: Why not?
The Kid: 'Cause then he'll know my dark secret.
Me (waiting for it): What's your dark secret?
The Kid: Freezer burn.
See what I mean? But do ya see what I mean??? Wait, here's another one -
The Kid: Hey, Mom, who do you think would win in a fight; Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr.?
Me (clueless, but playing along): Martin Luther King, Jr.?
The Kid (with a sneer): Why, 'cause he's black?
The Kid (in a stage whisper and with a mighty glare): I wish you’d just stop doing all those illegal drugs, Mom, they’re tearing our family apart.
And he said the last two things, like, in public! Loudly!!! (For the record, peeps, I totally don't do drugs. Although I'm seriously considering starting...friggin' Kid.)
But possibly the best one, to date, was after we ordered dinner at our favorite local burger joint:
The Kid (leaning forward with a grin): So, Mom…what would you say if I told you I wanted to join the Church of Satan?
What I probably should've said was, "Honey, they can't handle you."