This afternoon I talked with Elizabeth and Maddie. Talking to Maddie is very, very fun. She may be four, but she can talk about anything and for quite a long time. Today we were discussing our dinner plans. I told her we might have spaghetti after we went to the gym to play racquetball. Maddie generously offered to make me some meatballs. Um, Maddie, I know we both live in California now, but how are we going to transport these homecooked meatballs in time for dinner? Elizabeth got on the phone and explained that whenever they have spaghetti, Matt cops a Swedish chef accent (at least that's what I picked up; perhaps it was an Italian accident. Let's go with the generic European) to inquire, "Would you like for me to make you some meatballs?" Maddie was letting me in on the family joke.
So. Fast forward to the racquetball court. I'm stomping my dear husband, 9-0. I was all over the place, making crazy corner shots. And then I faked my best Generic European Accent and served the ultimate statement of trash talk: would you like for me to make you some meatballs?
Alas. Somehow this seemingly perfect taunt was my downfall. Soon after I uttered the freshly repurposed phrase, I started losing. And I lost, 15-13. Just before Ben made his winning shot, he hollered, "MEATBALLS!"
The people at the gym must really think we're odd.