The argument my husband and I had over the weekend began with him flippantly calling a sticker a burr. We were on our way to dump a load of tree limbs that we had just cut off our creepy neighbor's trees to allow more sunlight into our backyard. I know wanting more sunlight in one's yard sounds like a major mistake in North Texas come summertime, but you must understand that my creepy neighbor's trees are no normal trees. They're huge, their overgrown, they've never been pruned, and I hope to all that is Holy and Righteous in Heaven that their roots are screwing up my neighbor's foundation.
But yes, it's a sticker that grows out of those grassy weeds dear and not a burr.
That's when the argument really started getting out of control. Perhaps we were both a bit hot, sweaty and tired from working all day, but I felt the need to remind my husband of the following:
It's a flip flop and not a thong.
It's a seesaw and not a teeter totter.
It's a coke and not a pop or soda.
It's a crawdad, crawfish or mudbug and not a crayfish.
It's a locust and not a cicada.
It's a pecan and not a peecan.
It's a sticker and not a burr.
Then I calmed down. Until my husband exclaimed in exacerbation, "I hate y'all Texans! Y'all are all a bunch of proud people. I hate that about you! You think your Alamo is so great. You think you're better than anybody else. If all the other forty-nine states say it's one thing and y'all say it's another, then Texans must be wrong!"
Quickly, my five-year-old retorted from the backseat, "I'm a way too proud of Texas man!"
That's the way to tell him honey. I love that kid.
So we finished unloading the tree limbs, I took a few photographs of the first signs of spring, and we made our way to the Ghettomart (not to be confused with the Grande Dame Walmart). As we entered the store my husband looked back at me and kindly directed me to grab two shopping carts so we could fit our boys into them and grocery shop in peace.
They're buggies dude.
Hey, but at least I've got him saying y'all. One step at a time...