Battery

Last night was Storm's first little league game. It was full of comedic moments, but I think my favorite happened just before the first at-bat. The coach was calling out the kids' numbers to tell them the batting order. Storm was listening attentively when a look of total panic swept over his face. He dashed out of the dugout and sprinted to us. Just before he ran his mother over, he turned around, looked over his shoulder and said, "What number am I?"

All was going well until Faith jumped up from the bevy of little girls and began chasing another of the flock with a sharpened pencil. I could hear that horrible piercing "Renk Renk Renk" sound from Psycho. Thankfully, Mimi grabbed up our little Norman Bates before she caught the other child. When I asked Faith why she was stalking her prey, she said, "Because she was singing, and I didn't like it." My God.

I was reminded, though of a story that I think you guys will all get a kick out of. It concerns my aunt Lisa who is now a big dyke living happily in Atlanta with her big dyke girlfriend. When Lisa was a girl she, of course, was a tomboy. At half-time of the high-school football games, the little boys and Lisa would play touch on the field until the game resumed. One Friday night, when Lisa came off the field, she saw a little turd boy chasing her younger sister and trying to kiss her. Lisa got a hold of him, threw him up against the chain link and beat him until the fence was leaned over. A teacher seperated them and marched Lisa up into the stands to her parents. When they got home, her father said, "Next week, you're gonna wear a dress and sit in the stands with me." Lisa said, "Well then I'm not goin'."