Bitch

Yesterday we had a picnic at my Dad's for Father's Day. My Dad's house, no matter where he's ever lived, has always been a work in progress. And, as a single man, he cares very little about matching dinnerware, flatware or glassware (or really much else for that matter but this instance deals with kitchenware so I'm going to end the list there.) My Dad loves to cook and he's quite good at it so we let him.

Somehow, among all of the paper goods we used instead of the non-matching stuff, real glass drinking glasses made it outside. About 90 minutes into our little family shindig DD starts singing "bitch, bitch, bitch...bitch, bitch, bitch." I just looked at her with my mouth open. And she, happy as a little clam, was confused.

"DD, what did you just say?" "Bitch, bitch, bitch." (Because if you ask a question you will get an answer!) I said, "Do you know that's a bad word?" And she replied, "Oh, no I didn't. I just read Aunt Becca's cup." And my sister picked up the cup and ran inside for an exchange. I knew there was a reason she brought the paper goods to the party. I hope your Father's Day was just as memorable.