So we're driving. I'm trying to listen to my beloved Billy Bragg, who is singing to me about God's Footballer, who scores goals on Saturday and saves souls on a Sunday, and breathe my way through an anxiety attack, and the kid speaks up to DEMAND to know what a retrocartoon is.
Me: "Now what now?"
The Kid: "A retrocartoon."
Me: "I have no idea. Use it in a sentence." (My standard dodge, btw, when I don't want to answer a question. That and "Why did we buy you that dictionary if you ain't ever plan to look anything up in it?")
The Kid: "It's not IN a book. It was on The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. Magic Music Maker turned everything on the farm into a cartoon and Mandy got squirted with milk and when she got up she said I hate retrocartoons. What's a retrocartoon?"
Me: "Oh. Crap." Because where do I start on that one? I gave her a brief explanation of retro, and how it was meant to be ironic, sort of, and how, in which case, this was supposed to be funny, since it was a kid's cartoon, did she get it now?
The Kid: "No. What's retrocartoon?"
Me: "I'm sorry. That's the best I can do. You won't get it until you're about 20."
The Kid: "Why? Why won't I get it until I'm 20?"
Me: "Because you don't have the cultural baggage. You won't have the cultural baggage to get that joke for about 12 more years. That's how it is."
The Kid: "Where can I buy the baggage?"
Me: (ever so patiently) "You can't *buy* cultural baggage. You can only collect it."
The Kid: (eye-roll apparent in her voice) "That was a *joke*, Mom."
3 hours ago