The Highest Form of Flattery

Okay, here's a good one:

I'm driving Hammerhead and three of his buddies who have spent the night to the skate park.

It's been an awesome 24 hours. Cheerful, funny friends have established an atmosphere of high energy and appreciation in our home. Fresh blood in the house brings out the best in me, and I am having a grand old time. With the four boys in the car, on a safe and low-traffic side road, I even drive crazy for a few minutes. "Whoa!" the boys all laugh. "Ow!" one of them says, "I bonked my head!"

"Yeah?" Hammerhead asks. "Does your face hurt?"

"No" the friend answers.

"Well, it's killing me*! he says. All boys erupt into laughter.

"Huh," I think to myself, but say not a word.

Seconds later, we pass an odd, enormous sculpture of an anchor which was erected in the park near our house four years ago.

"Dudes," Hammerhead says, "Check out the funky-ass anchor.**"

"Weird!" they all say.


"Huh," I think again. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle..."
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* One of Aunt Pillowhead's favorite jokes, best used when someone (Hammerhead) has just complained of an ache, pain, or any other kind of general discomfort in the cranial area. This pointed yet irresistibly winsome rejoinder has never once elicited even a smile from my long-suffering stepson, who instead consistently complains of its "unfunniness," terming it "the worst of all of [your] horrible jokes."


** Whenever Aunt Pillowhead drives by this odd, artistic non-sequitor (daily), she expresses her confusion over the city's decision to mark an arid, waterless flatland with a huge anchor by saying, "Check out the funky-ass anchor." Which invariably causes Hammerhead to slap his own face with frustration and ask me why I have to say that "every single time we pass the stupid thing."