A quick trip to the coast for lunch … the usual 2 hour drive and fish and chips on the beach.
Monkey Boy, still rambling like and insane man (I wonder if that is something they learn in grade 2? And will grade 3 be any better) is going on and on about his new Lego and what he is going to call everything.
The last set he purchased himself, with money from grandparents for Chrimstas, contained a shark. Which he named, ever so originally “Sharky”.
He informed me (in about 1000 words) that the next one he got he would make sure it had a dog in it “which I will call ‘Barky’. No, no, no wait, no I’ll call it ‘Doggy'”.
“And I could get one with a cat and call the cat ‘Catty'”
And on and on and on about ‘Squiddy’ and ‘Birdy’ and blahdy bladhy blah-y.
We pass the sand on the beach and Godzilla advises us that he wants to “find crabby”.
Clearly bored with the antics, or maybe just simply a smart arse, Grumpy points to me and says “there she is!”
Oh, hahahaha. Hilarious!
Off we walk, trying to drown out the sounds of the incessant talking and focus on the relaxing beach tones.
(Calm blue ocean. Calm blue ocean.)
Just as we pass a large family group, and more specifically, the matriarch of the group, Godzilla (big smile on face) points at me and loudly informs the entire free world “You’re name is Crabby!”
Horrified onlookers glanced at me to gauge my reaction. Which was to laugh and say “Keep that up and you’re gonna get a serious dose of slap-cheek”.
Horrified onlookers became, amazingly, more horrified and more onlookery!
I smile politely at them