Smartypants

One of the drawbacks of having a smart mouth (I blame all the Comedy Central stand-up I watched as a kid) is getting sent to your room.

Which in my case wasn't much of a drawback.  I would sit in there and read and/or draw comics.

Eventually, my parents realized they couldn't punish me by sending me to my room.

So they made me write sentences.

On paper.

On big yellow legal pads.

Sometimes I would have to write 500 lines of:

I will not hit my sister or push her down the stairs.

On the plus side, I developed great penmanship.

But it was usually my big, fat, smart mouth that got me into the most trouble.

My Mom: Don't be such a smart ass!

Me (running away): It's better than being a dumb ass!

My Mom: Shut the door!  Were you born in a barn?

Me (running away): Yes!  Just like Jesus!

My Mom: What's the matter with you?

Me (running away): I don't know, but I'm sure it's genetic!

On the plus side, I learned to run really fast.

A few weeks ago, I was eating dinner with Sena and we were talking and then all of a sudden the conversation turned, like the plot in a Quentin Tarantino movie.

Sena (shaking her tiny fist at me): No! No, Momma, no!

I don't even remember what I said, but apparently she really disagreed with me.

So, trying to be funny, I leaned forward and said, "Yes!"

Sena: No!

Then she smacked me in the face.

I recoiled, aghast.

Appalled.

We stared at each other with humongous eyes.  No one blinked.

I didn't know what to do so I jumped up and walked into the kitchen, attempting to compose myself.

I hid behind the refrigerator and started shaking.

Because I was laughing.

I waited a minute and walked back into the room.  La, dee, dah...

Sena looked at me sideways, gave me her prettiest smile and said in completely evil little voice.  "Hi, Mommy."

As in, let's pretend this never happened.

So I did.

And then I realized I was in deep shit.

I better start stocking up on yellow legal pads.