Let Me Call You Sweetheart..... Dude

So the other morning Abby and I were embroiled in a wicked game of sock baseball. What? You've never heard of sock baseball. Well there's two teams, one player per team. Abby One team hits the entire game and I the other team pitches, yeah you guessed it, the entire game. A balloon is used for a ball and a rolled up pair of and I can't stress this enough, clean socks are used as a bat.

Okay so here Abby and I are playing in the last game of the World Series of Sock Baseball when she made an odd request. "Mom", she said, "will you be my Dude"?

I have to admit at first I was grateful that she hadn't asked me to be her bitch. (She's a huge Prison Break fan). But did I really want to be her Dude? I wasn't quite sure what being a Dude entailed. Was it going to be a lot of extra work? Because I'm so not down with extra work. But she was lucky and I was in an agreeable mood. And just like that I was her Dude. So the game progresses and Abby's hollering at me "keep your eye on the ball dude!" No if you refer to the first paragraph you'll see that in sock baseball only Abby one team gets to hit for the entire game. By that rationale there was no need for me to keep my eye on the ball, but she's the inventor of sock baseball so what could I do? In one of the later innings I happened to throw a meatball right over the plate from the couch pitcher's mound. Abby gave a mighty swing and a miss. "Strike!" I called out since we were lacking an umpire. "Mom, don't say that. You're supposed to be my Dude!" Now how was I supposed to know that wasn't very "Dude-like" behaviour.

She was so upset with me that the sock baseball world series was called on account of pouting. That hasn't happened since last Tuesday when I actually attempted to hit an inning. Very much against the rules. Right in the middle of the pout-fest a couple of guys made the horrible decision to stop their Jimmy in front of our house. Abby marched over to the window and snatched the curtains back. "What are they doing?!?" she screeched.
"Well", I said, "it looks like they're trying to tie their load down a bit better." The fellas were hauling a trailer of stuff that I hope was headed to the dump and they weren't actually moving that crap to a new apartment. At this time Abby started marching purposefully to the front door.

Me: Where are you going?
Abby: To yell at those guys. They cannot do that in front of my house. They have to move. NOW!

Hey fellas I don't know who you were or where you were going, but you should thank your lucky stars that I tackled her before she reached the door. This was the same 3 feet of rage that yelled at one of the construction guys that kept walking up and down the street (we are having new sidewalks put in) "Hey! Don't you have any work to do!?!" God only knows what she would have unleashed on you if I had let her out that door.