Well it's a good thing Reagan was president, I guess, and that I trusted but verified. The money part of STBX's story was basically true (if not completely so), but the narrative within which it was situated was bullsh*t. After accidentally running into her at the elementary school, I had her come in the kitchen, and she sort of laid it down - seasoned with a few (ignored) barbs - and the upshot was: "Be clear about this - I don't want to take a bath on this house, and I don't think you do either. But by the same token, I don't want to hold on to this house longer than necessary because I absolutely don't want to live here ever again - it's just got too many associations."
In other words, stick to plan. I live here with Themselves until The Boy leaves 5th grade next year.
Fast forward to yesterday. Kids back from their mother's house. The Boy: "Dad, what's a c*cks*cker?"
SP Himself: Uh {thought bubble: what did he say? What?? Emergency! Call the Red Cross! Call the National Guard! Ah-ooga! Ah-ooga! Go to Defcon 2!}. Yes. Well. You, er, see, ah, son. That's not the kind of thing we, ah, um, say in polite society. Where {the hell / on earth / for the gods' sake} did you hear such a thing?
The Boy [in that story-telling sing-song kids have]: Last night? When The Girl-child and I were playing "Battleship"? Mommy was talking on the phone? And she started yelling? And she said that she wants her house back from that - that word? - because why was she supposed to move out?
SP: Ah. Well. I'm sure I don't know what your Mom was referring to, but that's the kind of language adults sometimes use, and it's just best if you delete it from your mind.
Well, well, well. Set up like a bowling pin. Trust, but verify. The Mouthpiece will work this issue from now on.
