Madd Dogg vs. Fidget

We, my dear readers, have stooped to a whole new low. Hard to imagine, isn't it? I suppose that I should clarify that by "we" I mean Fidget and Madd Dogg. Let me set the stage, in chronological order:

Madd Dogg had a shit pisser of a day at work. So, on the way to way to the car at the end of the day, Madd Dogg describes to Fidget various aspects of her day that have pissed her off. Fidget, having been well trained, says all the right things, like "wow, yeah, that sounds really frustrating" or "I'm sorry, that totally blows." However, Fidget promptly forgets what he's been taught as soon as we're in the car.

I can't even remember what he said, but rest assured people, it was totally rude. In fact, it was so rude that Fidget himself said, "yeah, that was rude, so punch me." He then proffers up his arm for me to punch. I say to myself, "Self, do you really want to hit him or would you rather spare him the pain of your iron fist and instead come up with another, alternate punishment?" I chose the latter road and this is really where things begin to deteriorate. Now, in case I wasn't clear above, I had had a really bad day and I was feeling extra cantankorous. I may have spit my bright green spearmint gum (see photo) at him. At his arm, mind you, which was amply covered by his waterproof coat. Fidget was, dare I say, stunned. So I did it again. So stunned was Fidget that he dared me. He told me that if I did it again, he'd put the gum in my hair.

Such a threat gave Madd Dogg but a second of pause, before the residual oppositional defiant disorder kicked in and she promptly spits her gum at his waterproof covered arm one more time. Fidget grabs the gum and heads for my head. We then engage in a wrestling match for the gum, which ends when I latch onto his hand with my teeth. All the while, our little Sparkles is squealing out oh so helpfully from the front seat that peanut butter will help me get the gum out of my hair. Anyway, I managed to wrestle the gum away from Fidget and threw it out of the car (thereby committing a crime in the process). Then, our little Sparkles shrieks out again that Fidget got beat by a girl, and Mumbles said something that sounded like "dude, you adljwu@@@%#djotpweit, dude." Fidget is really pissed, not because I spit gum at him but because he didn't manage to stick it in my hair.

Now, after this melee, I mention out loud that, had Fidget been successful, it would have been awfully hard to explain why I had gum in my hair when I get home. And, even though I arrive home gum free, as I'm trying to describe this event to my partner, she looks at me with a mix of pity and horror and disbelief and says, "Oh honey, things have really have deteriorated, haven't they?"

Um, well, yes dear, they totally have. I have no excuses for such deplorable behavior other than to say that I was forced to such extreme measures.

PS: Thanks to happy massager for modeling my gum.