Tales of crazy screaming mullet pirates

First things first: I'll average the reaction to the scampi and give it a solid 8. (I KNOW; I can't believe it, either.) 1of3 vowed to eat not one single bite, but I have that nasty-mom-'take-one-bite'-rule, and it turns out he lurves it. 2of3 liked it, but mostly just liked the pasta. 3of3 ate broccoli and pineapple. She's refined like that. All in all, it was a hit.

And now I will bore you with stories of my retarded family.

Josh took the boys to get haircuts. 2of3 sits down in the chair to get a cut and the lady asked what grade he was in. His reply, in one breath with no pauses at all, was, "I'm in 2 I was in grade 1 so now I'm in 2 I'm seven I hate my older brother it SUCKS to be seven." The lady laughed so hard she had to walk away for a minute. She came back and asked him how he liked his hair cut, and he told her he wanted a mullet.

I have no response to that.

Josh got a haircut, too. He's trying to grow it out after 35 straight years of the exact same cut, and so he has to re-train it. Re-training it means he has to walk around all day with a do-rag on his head. The only thing we have that even comes close to working for this is a Tiger Cub bandanna, and so he has spent two full days with a bright orange rag on his hair. He has decided that this makes him Captain Jack Sparrow. He runs around saying arrrrgh. He calls me matee. It's funny. We were on the deck and he flicked a bee, mid-air, away from us and said, "You know why I can flick a bee while it's flying? 'Cause I'm a pirate." Another bee landed on the floor by his feet and he kicked at it. He missed, and as he jumped into the air to stomp on the bee, he exclaimed, "Argh! I am a PIRATE!"

*splat* Pirate: 1 Bee: 0

While they got haircuts, 3of3 and I were getting groceries and as we walked down the aisles, we passed a man who gave me that look; that look that either means, "Isn't that baby cute? I have a baby, too. Maybe they could be friends" or "Isn't that baby cute? That chic sure does make a good looking kid. Maybe I could procreate with her, too". Those looks are hard to distinguish. Anyway, shortly thereafter tiny little aliens flew their tiny little mothership into my daughters' nose and started eating through her brain with razor sharp tiny teeth (well, that's what it sounded like; maybe she just wanted candy) and the same man passed us again. He stopped, turned to my little banshee and me, and said, "Wow. She sure is cuter when she's not screaming."

I agree, fully.