I’d Rather Be a Smart-ass Than a Dumb-ass

The title of this post is what my husband always says when he gets called a smart-ass. Yes, he gets called it a lot. It's pretty much a toss-up on which one of us passed on the smart-ass-y gene to the kids. He says me, I say him. The kids have taken it to a new level. 
At one point when our youngest (the son mentioned in the cornfield post) was in his teens, he was upset because he felt he wasn't able to keep up. When everyone else was smarting off, he was lost and couldn't come up with snappy retort. This frustrated him to no end. I can imagine he was feeling a bit different from the rest of the family and wondered for a short time if he possibly could have been adopted. (Not a chance. He is Hubs' clone.)  Well he came into his stride when he hit his 20's and now he's as quick-witted as the next one.
It is one of my favorite things when the family gets together. I even referred to it when I was interviewed a few days ago and asked what one memory I would like to keep. It was this – all of us sitting around the table being smart-asses and laughing so hard at each other (okay…um…yeah… WITH each other. Whatever.) … laughter is contagious!
Sometimes I pity the first time a "significant other" is brought in to meet us all. I am sure there have been conversations that went something like, "My family isn't typical. We're a bit weird. If you're lucky Mom will have clothes on and Dad will shut off the TV long enough to talk to you. Oh, yeah, and it gets really noisy and don't be surprised if you are totally embarrassed." By which point he or she is really wondering what they've gotten themselves into. So far, we've lucked out and the significant others are generally right in there smarting off along with the rest of us.
When MIL comes over it changes the chemistry a little. Because of logistics (she lives really, really close) and the fact that she has hearing like a bat (I swear she can overhear cell phone calls at 200 yards) she is often included. It just makes life easier. Trust me. However, she can be a bit of a wet blanket. She sits there and glares because a.) she doesn't approve the language, my kids we all cuss like sailors  and b.) she doesn't get half the references – sometimes we're talking about World of Warcraft, sometimes we're "sneakily" and "subtley" talking about the blogs without actually SAYING blog, 'cause, you know, that would just give it all away and we'd die slow painful deaths. Occasionally we'll be talking TV shows, none of which she's seen or heard of but maybe she thinks she wants to … until she finds out what they're about (Hello? Dexter?).
So. If you ever get invited over, don't be surprised by the total breakdown of the Heartland of America Corn Fed Squeaky Clean image. We just don't work that way. We're a bunch of smart-asses….but better than a bunch of dumb-asses!