You're the Bone Machine

On our way home from Ben's parents' house this afternoon, Bob kept requesting the "little mushy" song. I couldn't begin to think of what music I have that refers to a juvenile mushroom or anything even close to that, so I was completely at a loss until he started singing it:

"nuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh, nuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh...you're bone's got a little mush-een."

Oooooh. The Pixies. Gotcha.

You have to admit, he's going to be the coolest kindergartener ever.

Bob had been at the in-laws' house while I accompanied Ben to his own kindergarten teacher's retirement party. Seems the ladies in charge wanted to present her with a parade of people from all 27 years of her kindergarten classes. Ben was there to represent 1984-85, which also happens to be the year I made cheerleader. As if that weren't enough to make me feel old, there were some recent college graduates there who graduated from kindergarten the same year I graduated from high school. Jesus Tapdancing Christ. Just hand me my fucking Geritol and take me home already.

I'm not enjoying this revelation that I'm now one of the Old People. I guess my only recourse is to get skinny (and stay that way) and stop ordering clothes from Land's End.

By the way, if anyone runs into DoucheBag, let him know he's now TWO months behind on his child support payments, and if he hasn't paid up by Monday, I'm instructing my attorney to file a motion to have him found in contempt of court for nonpayment. Fucker.