MyThreeDaughters

“The Bigs,” as Wife and I sometimes call the two older daughters, have a saying: “Flashback.”
(I think that’s the word, something like that.) It means, “Back at you.” It’s a short version of the ultra-childish, old-school “I am rubber and you are glue/whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”
Gosh, I’m old.
So, this morning, at breakfast, Fontaine hit me with a “Flashback!” without even having to use the word. Maybe it wasn’t so much a “Flashback!” as it was a “BUUURN,” a la Kelso on “That ’70s Show.”
(See, even my references are old. Is that show still on? What next, a M*A*S*H reference?)
I was lamenting to Wife that the new college-student renters had woken me up at 3:(freaking)15 a.m. with their excessively loud conversation out on the sidewalk. I was not happy.
“I’m going to be a BIG problem for those people,” I said.
Wife, who is so much nicer and more strategic than I, suggested:
“Well, I hear you, but at least the first time we need to approach them reasonably, explain to them that a lot of people have kids and are sleeping at that time.”
Fontaine: “Dad, I don’t think you can do that, can you? I think you better wake up Mom and have her do it.”
Me, ignoring both of them, and even as I type this, I am starting to realize I might be coming across as a grump: “There’s just SOMETHING about a Southern woman’s voice — they can penetrate lead. And why does someone need a car alarm — BEEP BEEP BEEP — to get into his own car? Isn’t that for when someone else tries to get into your car?”
Fontaine looks over.
“See Dad, I really don’t think you can do this. Really. You’d better wake up Mom.”
Rubber….Glue.
BUUUURN.
“Flashback!”

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