On the drive here, the other day, we were embroiled in a serious game of "Slug Bug." Mr. Z and Miss O have a kind of love/hate relationship with the game, and vacillate between embracing it wholeheartedly and whining that it's unfair and that they never want to fucking play it again. So, we were chugging along and there didn't seem to be too many Bugs on the road to spot, so we added "Mini Innie," a Slugbug variation I invented that adds in the Mini Cooper. If you see a mini, you can poke the nearest person in the belly-button and say, "Mini Innie!" But again, there weren't too many Minis on the highway.
For some reason, the old lady pulled a majorly un-old-lady-like move, and suggested a new addition that involves P.T. Cruisers, which are like corn kernels in shit on the 5th of July, along Michigan roadways. Her suggestion: when you see a P.T. Cruiser, you yell, "P.T. Teat-ee" and grab your neighbor's nippleage. She introduced the game by grabbing my right nurple while I was driving, nearly sending us careening through the guardrail and into a gulley. Of course, the spawn thought this new amendment was hilarious/brilliant/strangely tittilating, and started grabbing each others' nips like they were going out of style. The old lady instantly regretted her suggestion, but I, too, thought it brilliant and I started scanning the oncoming traffic. I had a distinct advantage because, well, her bullseyes are WAY bigger than mine.
Before long, the whole car was slugging, poking and nurpling and we had a jolly old time, until things basically turned into a slapfight in the backseat, and I had to put the kibosh on the proceedings. Lucky for the old lady, too, cuz I'm the king of the P.T. Teat-ee.
She's just lucky I didn't see a Volvo.