Pizza Night

My wife went out to cackle with some hens tonight, so TB and I had pizza night. Oftentimes when LBB is out we make up a pizza. No Dominos, Pizza Hut or any of that mess. We make it ourselves. Sometimes I make dough, sometimes we use a Boboli or the store-brand equivalent.

Tonight, we made a sausage pie for the boy, onion and mushroom for me - canned mushrooms, of course - fresh mushrooms on a pizza taste like eating the newspaper. We had some questionable sun-dried tomatoes in the pantry so I tossed a few of those on mine. That was a mistake. Apparently, you have to re-hydrate them or something. I picked them off and threw them away.

TB complained that his pizza was too spicy, but he ate it anyway. Must have been the three (or maybe five or seven) shakes of crushed red pepper I mixed into the sauce.

He boldly decided to put one (1!) mini slice of onion on his pizza, just to try it out. In the end, great pizzas. We both ate well.

After dinner, we played some card games. He has a kid version of hearts that he wanted to try. I couldn't figure out the Engrish directions. It didn't make any sense, until I realized it required 3 or more players. So, on to Ruckus! We love playing Ruckus. Little thought, lots of action.

Ruckus requires you keep score. Just because it's what I do, I almost never use real names at the head of a score sheet. I put down "Big Horse" for myself and "Ding-a-Ling" for him. I didn't think twice about it. I could just as well have put down "Gaseous Gorilla", "Noriega", or "Gwallusp". I meant nothing by it and he didn't even notice.

Then he won the game and took a look at the scoresheet. Of course he laughed about Big Horse, and then asked why I put down "Ding-a-Ling" for him, but laughed about it anyway. I had forgotten his recent protestations about being called "Ding-Dong" (he can be a bit vacuous now and then, so . . . if the shoe fits, right?).

Since he chucked a bit about "Ding-a-Ling", bright one that I am, I figured he might get a kick out of the old Chuck Berry song "My Ding-a-Ling". So we went to the computer and fired up Rhapsody and as soon as the tune started up he scowled and me and asked, "Why does everyone keep calling me a Ding-a-Ling?"

Poor guy. He's all sensitive and I'm just trying to get him to laugh at a goofy song. I told him, "No, we're not calling you a Ding-a-Ling, it's just a silly song, don't get all teenaged and sensitive on me." But he kept scowling, so I shut it off.

Then I showed him a YouTube video of a big dude in his undies dancing to "Milkshake". He laughed and laughed. We're all patched up now like father and son.

Momma might want to think twice about leaving us home alone.