Paté

Having Sam back home has been really interesting. I haven't blogged much about him because (a) he's a terrible knitter, and (b) his stories aren't mine to share, though they are highly entertaining at the dinner table. (He also has his own, much neglected blog. Once he starts writing again, I'll link it in the sidebar.)

As far back as I can remember, Sam has had an incredibly dry, quick wit, which Mom declared to be an unnerving quality in a six-year-old.

So, many-a-year ago, when I was in low double-digits and Sam was still in the singles, we were talking about something in front of Mom, which didn't include her. I believe we were making plans of some flavor, perhaps a two-kid trek to Nebraska.

Mom: What am I? Chopped liver?
Sam: NO! You're UGLY chopped liver!

(After all, what's the worst thing you can add to any insult? Clearly, to a kid it's "ugly".)

Henceforth, nothing in our house has ever been "chopped liver" anymore, but instead, "ugly chopped liver". (I think Andrew has started using it, too.)

This has carried over into all parts of life, so much so that I didn't even think about it in conversation when I was *stopped* and the person I was talking to said, "Did you just say UGLY chopped liver?"

Channeling my brother for a moment, I answered "I'm sorry, would you prefer I use 'paté'?"

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