I posted this on my other (http://redneck-diva.tripod.com/blog) today, but it was so damn funny I thought I'd post it over here, too.
A few weeks ago when my sister had the flu and I was watching Cute Baby. Well, one morning when Cute Mommy, who has the most adorable southern accent I've ever heard, was leaving she said, "Aoh and bah the wayyy...hay's got a liddle raysh own hay-is dooder." Translation: The kid had a rash on his dooder. Okay, that's all well and good, except I had no earthly idea what a "dooder" was. Was it his chubby little buns? Was it his twig and/or berries? Agh, what in the world was a dooder?? This is something I should've actually clarified with her before I let her walk out the door. But, being Super Mom and all, I just nodded and said, "Gotcha. Rash. On dooder. K." I mean, hey, I've been doing daycare since I was 18. Rashes I can handle. Even on dooders.
So the first diaper change rolled around and I was eager to dispell the mystery of the dooder. I exposed the diaper-covered nether regions of Cute Baby to find that his entire erm...area down there was rashed! So much for figuring out what the hell a dooder was. I smeared diaper rash cream all over that kid's buns, twigs, berries, lions and tigers and bears. Ohhhhhmy.
Well, of course, when Sis was well again I had to share the absolute adorable-ness of Cute Mommy's notification of a dooder problem. By this time I had concluded on my own that a dooder was indeed a behind. I mean, it just made sense to me. Although, I never verbalized my findings to anyone - I just passed on the story.
Last night when I finally found Sis at the casino, lo and behold she was with Cute Mommy. Pleasantries were exchanged:
"How's Cute Baby?"
"Aoh, hay's fan."
"Great! He sure is cute. Have you won anything yet?"
"Na-oh. Nawt a thang yay-et. Hay-ev yaou?"
"Not yet. Just got here." Etc, etc.
Then Sis fesses up that she told Cute Mommy that I told her about the dooder. Great. Cute Mommy is all of 22 years old. I am 10 years older than her and for some reason I find myself wanting to maintain as many cool points as possible around her. Great. So Heather has spilled her guts regarding my amusement at the dooder.
Keep in mind that I have since started calling everyone a "dooder head". The kids call each other dooder head. They call their father a dooder head. In my mind since a dooder is a butt, a dooder head is a butthead.
Then Cute Mommy says, "Aoh, mah gawsh...Ah cayn't bay-leeve Ah aycshooly sayad dooder to yaou! But Ah jayst wusn't shoore ayf ayt was aokay to drawp the "Pay" word." Translation: FOR THEM THE DOODER IS THE "P" WORD. Dooder = penis.
Oh heavenly days -
My children have been calling their father and each other dick heads.
4 comments:
I like it! And it is free (and free of pop-ups!)So, will you be transferring your posts over from Tripod, and just using this one, or keeping both?
I would love to transfer all of my old posts over here, but there are nearly 300!! Am I ready for that kind of undertaking? But it'd save me from losing it all....agh. If I start such a task it will seriously cut into my bon-bon eating and soap opera watching time. Oh the dilemma.
Hi Diva!
This is Lynn from the old "Random Word" blog. :) I found you!
I couldn't remember your tripod address and stumbled on this just yesterday. Small blog world!
I killed my old blog due to..well stupid people. And have a new one. Stop by sometime. Keep on being funny! I'll be sure to visit here again soon.
So - you come on down to Blogspot while it's having one of its conniptions... Hey - maybe you started it!
I called my dad a schmuck at the dinner table once. He calmly turned toward me and said, "Did you know that schmuck is Yiddish for penis?"
Uhh no, not 'til then - and I never called him it again...
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