I’ve always said that I was a pretty good kid.  I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t run with the “bad crowd.”  I did extracurricular activities.  Yet my mother and I constantly fought anyway.  Then today I remembered this particular story from childhood, and I realized maybe I was more of a little shit than I give myself credit for.

As a bit of background information, I took years of Spanish.  About 11 years total, though my vocabulary is totally lost these days.  My mother also took a bit of Spanish in school, so she knew a few words.

Okay, so three friends had just spent the night.  Next morning, we were at the table eating breakfast, and I randomly ask, “¿Mama, dónde está tu cabeza?” (Mom, where is your head?)

She looks over and replies, “What, the cheese?  The cheese is in the fridge.”

My friends snickered, and I immediately responded, “Sí, es queso.”  (Yeah, it’s cheese.)  Laughter ensues, as does a confused expression on my mother’s face.