Inappropriate Pirate Parts

I adore PL1 and PL2 (which stand for Precious Little One and Precious Little Two, if you're just tuning in). They try my patience on a regular basis (read: minute-by-minute), but the slivers of joy and hilarity in between are well worth the frustration.

This unaltered portrait of PL2 was taken by PL1 when he snatched my 

camera one day. I think he has a future in art photography.

Recently I bought a kid-friendly snack called Pirate's Booty. They're highbrow Cheetos, marketed toward a younger demographic of video-game-playing, Mountain-Dew-swilling kids who prefer the word "all-natural" stamped on their food. (For the record, my preschoolers don't swill soda. But I digress.)

Delicious, delicious powdered, aged cheddar.

Both kids loved the Pirate's Booty, but PL2 in particular adored it. Being two years old, she still speaks with that cute little-kid lisp. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot say "Pirate's Booty" properly. Instead, she says, "Pirate's Boobies."

In the grocery store, at the drive-through, at playdates and at the mall -- anywhere she can possibly expose the Fenner name to public ridicule -- PL2 loves to scream, out of the blue, "Mommy, I want Pirate's Boobies!"

Pirate wenches everywhere will be buckling their swash in indignation. I'll be lucky if one of these days I don't wind up dead in the cereal isle, a cutlass in my gullet.