Monday, June 1, 2015

SSDD. It's Not Always What You Assume.

Like actor Strother Martin as Colonel Stonehill in True Grit was happily ignorant of Lawyer J. Noble Daggett until Mattie Ross persisted in drawing his name like a gun...I was happily ignorant of the expression SSDD until my misspent middle-age led me there. Yep. Never heard of it. Had no idea what it meant until I read Stephen King's Dreamcatcher. For those of you who may be just as ignorant, it stands shall we sanitize about: Carbon-Copy Crap, Different Day.

Yes, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has led a sheltered life. She doesn't know if Stephen King invented this acronym, or merely made it a fixture in today's slang dictionary. That's neither here nor there, Mr. King. As Rooster Cogburn told those Parmalee brothers when advising them to stand aside before he shot Lucky Ned Pepper, "I've got no interest in you today."

For Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's purposes, SSDD has another meaning:
Second Son, Different Day.

You may recall from yesterday that the #1 son grew indignant when I asked him if he knew who country singer Clay Walker was. And did not have the courtesy to be embarrassed that he did NOT know who Aerosmith lead singer Steven Tyler was. I chalked that up to being a #1 son ego kind of thing.

This morning, driving The Pony to Elementia to earn his tutoring hours, I mentioned that I needed to send in our registration for a summer writing conference. "I have to mark what kind of sandwich you want for lunch. And what soda. I think they only have Pepsi products."

"Sierra Mist. You know what I like. And roast beef for the sandwich."

"Okay. I don't remember what's on the list. If they don't have Sierra Mist, I guess I can pick root beer. And if they don't have root beer, I'll make it Mr. Pibb." The Pony was silent. "You know what Mr. Pibb is, don't you?"

"I'm not stupid! Of course I know what Mr. Pibb is!"

"It's like Dr. Pepper."


Uh huh. Second son, different day. I was starting to feel like Frank Costanza explaining the ins and outs of cup size to George, the prospective bra salesman. (Yeah, I just couldn't let it go. Had to get my Seinfeld reference in there). My boys declare they already know what I try to explain to them, even though I am met with silence when I first bring it up.

They are not picking up what I am laying down. Or they've already picked it up before I lay it down. I wonder if they know about the bra sizes...


Sioux said...

Perhaps they'd like to go into the mansierre business? Or the bro business?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Well, there you have it. They would never be able to do that, because they would not be able to agree on a name for the business. Not even over a game of pantsless billiards.