The Shotgun Wars: The Well

When last we wrote about The Shotgun Wars, the lass and the boy were locked in strategic gamesmanship, trying new tactics and countermeasures. Sadly, there have been no new tactics deployed of late and we’ve settled into some uneasy steady-state conditions.

I say “uneasy steady-state” because even though nothing new has developed, the prized passenger seat in the car is still hotly contested. Take this morning as an example. The boy was easily the first out the door. The lass was already in a bad mood and, realizing she’d be relegated to 3rd-world status sitting in the back, she tried to get me to referee. She wanted to know what car we were taking to school.

I simply replied it didn’t matter. I’m judging by the sound of her footsteps and the way the door opened and closed, my answer didn’t suit her. I called after her to just get in whichever car her brother was in, but I’m fairly certain she never heard me. It’s also quite probable she was just ignoring me.

Yes folks, even at the tender age of 7 she’s doing it. She’ll be a master by sometime this Summer, I predict.

So when I came outside, there was the boy in one car and the lass in the other. Nothing new there. I trudged around to the driver’s side of the car the boy was in. One more thing to irritate the lass this morning. Clearly, if she had me on her s**t-list, I wasn’t going to be off it anytime soon. (Even though she doesn’t know what it’s called, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. Her brother’s name is written in permanent ink.)

Once in the car, we had barely begun to move when the lass declared to her brother “This means I get to sit in the passenger’s seat on the way home.”

The boy voiced his opinion succinctly: “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m not listening to you.”

In a nasally, squeaky voice the lass snapped back “Nyeah nyeah nyeah ny-om not listening blah blah blah”. I can picture her head tilting back and forth which each syllable.

And so it goes.