MEDITATION ON MISS PIGGY

“Uncle Kurt calls Bonnie an adulterer,” my oldest grandson says.

My head whips around. My grandson is 14 and loves to surprise me with words like adulterer.

I clench my teeth to keep from saying the wrong thing. Bonnie is a most flagrant adulterer, but I didn’t know he knew it. She is a distant in-law, so the rest of us feel free to gossip about her. She’s not a blood relative, so it’s open season on anything and everything about Bonnie.

I am relieved he used the word adulterer, because we’ve called her a lot worse. A lot worse.

My grandson grins. He knows I must respond. I can’t lie and tell him she’s not an adulterer. She’s proved that time and time again.

“It’s true,” I say, “she’s had more hands up her dress than Miss Piggy.”

What is wrong with me? You can’t talk like that to your grandson. Even if it is true.

His mother is going to kill me. And I deserve it.

Wait a minute! Kurt said it first. I can blame Kurt.

“Kurt should probably not have said it, though,” I say.

“It’s okay,” my grandson says. “He could have called her something worse.”

Kurt has called her something worse. Many, many times. We all have.

“I feel sorry for her husband,” my wise and gentle grandson says.

“We all do.”

“Kurt says at least she’s not as bad as Cousin Mattie.”

“At least Mattie is nice to us,” I say.

“Uncle Kurt says she’s a b@#$%.”

We need to keep Kurt away from the kids when he’s drinking.