Funny Guy Friday... Mamas... Don't let your babies grow up to be cussers...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I love my wife. Let me just get that out of the way before I move forward.
     I caught a lot of flack for my very sappy post last week about our marriage retreat. I don't care... I love her... and I don't care who knows it.
     Now... that being said... Cheryl drives me crazy.
     Take this morning for instance.
     We woke up to a foot of snow, and my office did not close, but instead, opened late. Now, I am one of the bosses, and I can do whatever I want; however, I think it best that if the office is open on a snow day, I should show up. I may show up later than everyone else, though, and perhaps even leave earlier than everyone else... being the boss does come with some privileges.
     Anyway, I got up and ventured out to dig myself out of our driveway while everyone else slept. I contemplated waking Matthew and having him help, but I thought I would let him sleep in. Everyone had stayed up late figuring that we were getting the "biggest snow storm of the year." Mind you that our kids are home-schooled and school cancellations don't really mean what they used to mean.  
      After two hours of shoveling, I came back in the house and found the boys watching a show on the laptop and Cheryl reading on her ipad. I thought that I deserved pancakes for breakfast, and so I said, Who is making the pancakes?
     This can be translated to, Cheryl, get out of bed and make me some pancakes.
     Cheryl slightly misinterpreted it to mean, Matthew, get out of bed and go make everyone pancakes. so she said, Matthew, get out of bed and go make everyone pancakes.  
     Matthew, in turn, completely misunderstood Cheryl's demand and interpreted it to mean, Hey, Matthew, go take a shower.  So he grabbed a towel and started for the shower.
      I must admit, I was not too upset by this turn of events because I wanted Cheryl to be the morning chef. I was in a hurry, and Cheryl is way more efficient in the kitchen than everyone else besides maybe Grace, but she was asleep. Mind you, Matthew is capable. He can follow directions. It is just that he is thirteen years old and... how can I say this without offending him.... at times he can be a little bit goofy.
     There, that shouldn't be too offensive.
     I half-heartedly ordered that he put on some clothes and head downstairs. Dutifully, he left our bedroom and headed for the kitchen.
     When Cheryl and I walked into the kitchen, Matthew was busy stirring up the pancake mix.
     I was, at the same time, satisfied that he was on task... but horrified about his wardrobe. He was dressed in his underwear and had his towel wrapped around his neck like a cape. Who dresses like this when they are preparing another man's meal?
     I said the first thing that popped into my head: What in the hell are you wearing?
     Cheryl, too, was offended but surprisingly not at my half-clad, superhero, pancake-making son.
     No.
     Cheryl was offended at my language. She labeled me as a "cusser" and worried aloud that the boys are going to grow up to be cussers. I pled my case: I rarely cuss, except, of course sports cussing (when you are either playing or watching a sport), funny cussing (to emphasize a good joke or story) and then there is the mad cussing (out of anger).
     Truth be told, you don't even have to confess to sports cussing and funny cussing.
     She did not agree and again pointed out that I am a bad example for the boys who will grow up to be cussers.
     Ninety-nine percent of what I do in my life is positive: I am a faithful husband, a good dad, and a good friend. I work hard to provide for my family, and I go to church every Sunday. Apparently all of that is destroyed by a teeny weeny little humorous inquiry as to why my son is making my breakfast dressed like Captain Underpants.
     Cheryl mentioned that the cussing thing was not just this one time but that she has noticed it more and more lately. So I asked for examples and she came up with two words that are not even technically curse words. Even Matthew had my back on this one. Admittedly, they are not the best way to say something is "not good" or that something is "junk" but, they are not curse words!
     Noah walked in the room and I asked him if he thinks that I cuss a lot. He said that he has heard me "bad cuss" about fifteen times.
     Fifteen times for bad cussing? No way! Again, I asked for examples.
     When we couldn't go to Grayson's baptism because Rocky had messed all over the place, and it took you two hours to clean it all up. I heard you cuss then.
     Oh yeah. Cussing about missing a religious event. Hmm.
     And when we left Vermont that one time. You cussed a lot that day! 
     Oh yeah, the Vermont trip!
     That Vermont time only counts for one time even though I may have cussed all fifteen times in one steady stream. We had driven halfway home before I realized that I had left my skis in Vermont, so I should get a pass on that one!
     Funny thing about that was that I realized I left my skis as I was bragging about how much better I had packed on the trip home than on the trip there. Want to guess as to why?
     Anyway, Cheryl was convinced that the boys were going to grow up and become serial cussers. I tried to explain that I don't cuss that much and they'll be fine.
     She then she re-told a story about her dad... a story I hear every time she accuses me of being a cusser.
     Growing up I never heard my dad use bad language. Never. He always said that people who cuss lack real intelligence and imagination. 
     Oh yeah... I got a surprise for you... I have heard your dad cuss. 
     This, I will admit, was a bald-face lie, but I was not about to go down without taking someone else with me. It's true... her dad never cusses. Rotten, goody-two-shoes ba$&@*>!
     It was about at this time that I remembered my and Cheryl's little unity battle cry: "It is always us against them."
     This did not feel like "us against them at all." In fact, it felt a whole lot like them against me.
     I had to devise a way out of this. A way to change the topic. Fortunately, just then, Grace walked into the kitchen, took one look at Matthew in his get-up, and asked... What in the hell are you wearing? 
     Look, I never said that my daughter wouldn't grow up to be just like her old man.