When Craig drinks beer, he typically doesn’t drink any old mainstream brand of beer. He likes more unique labels, microbrews, or at least something slightly out of the ordinary. I guess that means he’s a beer snob, which sounds like quite the oxymoron. When we go to a restaurant, I could easily wager the house on accurately picking which beer Craig will choose. If he’s never heard of it, there is no doubt that he is going to try it.
Tonight at dinner, he was busy looking over the beer list. Unlike most places we go, there were actually many choices at this particular establishment. The waitress took my order first; I ordered a Blue Moon. She looked at Craig next, waiting for his choice. Now, it is important to note that we weren’t alone at dinner. My brother, my mom, and Kate were all with us. Craig looks up and nonchalantly says, “I’ll have a Dirty Bastard.” Yes, apparently this is some kind of beer ...
I gave him THE LOOK. You know, the one reserved for people who have committed the most atrocious of sins. He would have received a friendlier look if he had asked me if I’d just put on 10 pounds. See, mothers have this sixth sense of foreshadowing things that their children will do, or say. It was at this particular moment I knew what was coming. Kids have this inane ability to gravitate towards any inappropriate word used in their presence. It is like some alarm goes off in their ear, signifying a word that they must REPEAT. MUST REPEAT. It must be a skill they are taught during How To Mortify Your Mother 101.
Kate: Dirty Bastard?
Panic. Panic. Panic. Do you begin the lecture? No, lecture will encourage it and amplify it with Kate. Wait. Breathe. Ignore it.
Kate: (tee hee hee) Daddy got a Dirty Bastard
Oh my gosh. She’s not going to let it go. What do I do? What do I do? Someone help me here, I am sinking. Why was I so embarrassed when she said SHUT UP last week? Shut up has nothing on this.
Kate: Dir-teeeeee Bastard
I hope the paramedics have been called, because I am certainly going to die here. Craig, you aren’t doing a good job concealing the fact that you are half a breath away from not being able to contain your laughter. Why does this always happen to me? There is no humor in this moment.
Kate: Dirty Bastard. Dirty Bastard.
You know this is totally going to come out at Sunday School tomorrow, right?