Tasting

We've had a bit of a swearing problem this week. I was foolish enough (and stupidly optimistic) to think that Lucian and I could watch "Land of the Lost" with Will Ferrell and that there would be no consequences. Not so, not so. Lucian picked up on the swears immediately and so has been whispering them under his breath ALL WEEK. I heard him call the dog an "asshole bitch" yesterday. At least he was half-right.
How do you punish a kid for swearing when he literally just recovered from the deadly swine flu?
I took some toys away and made him sweep the steps. Of course, he muttered "shit" and stomped up the stairs while doing his time. Nice.
I guess couthe and reserve have never been really strong traits in the family. I had coffee with my little brother last night (younger, not littler, but looks ten years older due to "life experience"). He's a brilliant guy, but tries to play it off as a redneck, "simple" man. He's not fooling me because I know where he came from. He does allow his intelligence to glimpse through in the form of humor. He even admitted that he had a glass of wine with dinner last week.
"What kind," I asked. "A chardonnay, merlot, sav blanc?"
"What the hell is a sav blank?"
"Never mind, was it red or white?"
"White."
"Homo."
He smiled at that and did mention that he went to a wine tasting a few weeks ago. I was doubtful.
"Actually I went in to get a pack of cigarettes and there were all of these well-dressed snooty people in there. The owner of the store came out and told me they were all out of Bud."
"Wow, what a dick, did you leave?"
"I was about to then I heard this guy say "I can't believe that man left his garbage truck running."
"What garbage truck?"
"The work truck."
"Oh." The work truck was loud, but everybody leaves their diesel running if its for a pack of smokes.
"So you stayed for the wine tasting," I was smiling already.
"Yup, I drank them like shots then threw the little dixie cups back on the counter."
"Did you like the wine? Were there any good ones?"
"Chole, c'mon. I drank them like shots. The storeowner offered me some crackers and cheese."
"What kind?"
"I don't know, I didn't eat them. I just told him I was on my way to MacDonald's, didn't want to fill up on crackers."
"Nice."

So, you see, it is genetic. The humor, the complete lack of regard for social rules. I just wish he remembered the names of the wines. And the cheese they paired them with. Oh well.
For dinner, a nice Malbec and maybe a salad with cranberries in it.