My grandmother used to get mad at me and call me "Sassy."  
And I didn't like it.

I've decided "Sassy" suits me quite well these days.
And I do like it.

Funny how that happens.

What goes around comes around, though.  I now have a thirteen year old boy living in my house.  The sassy factor has been growing and developing since around the age of nine.  I know you're going to say your kids were born this way, but mine wasn't.  I think it's his Asperger's that kept it at bay for so long.

In trying to teach this gangly pubescent boy a thing or two, I employ my best friend - Sarcasm.  Michael and I are both good friends with Sarcasm.  

A few days ago, Michael knocked over a plastic pitcher from the drying rack by the sink.  He kept walking and was ignorant of the fact that he was slowly destroying my kitchen.  This is a common occurrence in a house of boys.

I decided to capture this teachable moment in a way only I would do.  

Priss: "When I knock something over, I pick it up!"
(Insert grand gesture where I pick up the pitcher in an exaggerated manner and place it on the drying rack with a huge forced grin on my face)

He does not miss a beat.  With an expression that only a teen could give, Michael immediately responds: "Glad I'm not you."

I laugh.
He laughs.

I'm so glad we are able to communicate so efficiently.

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Mrs. Priss

with a wee bit of sass.

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