Dorkiness is in the Eye of the Beholder

And since my little guy is the one who was eying me...well, you can guess how this goes.


Me:  "Who's a bigger dork.  Me or your dad?"

Little guy:  "DAD!"

Me:  "Oh, that's good.  I knew I was the cool one."

Little guy:  "You're not cool, mom."

Me:  "Well, when am I dork?"

Little guy:  "All the time."

Me:  "Even when I'm sitting at my desk painting?"

Little guy:  "No, not then."

Me:  "Even when I'm in the other room completely ignoring you?"

Little guy:  "No, not then either."

Me:  "Any time I'm around you?"

Little guy:  "Always then."


So, as it turns out I have to pretty much be in solitary confinement to not be a dork, I figured I had full rights to be my dorky self the rest of the time.  Right?  So, when the little guy and I went shopping and we passed by the live Yiddish music playing, and an employee told me I had to dance to get by...well, I figured I just had to.  I'm a rule follower, after all.  A rather dorky one.

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