Potty Mouth

My brother came to visit over the weekend. I dragged his ass to an Easter egg hunt, a three year old's birthday party at a gym, and then the after party at her house. When my brother gave me the look that said, "You better take me home now, or I'm going to get George to do that awful thing he does," I gave a quick adios salute, and wrangled the kids.
When we got home, I put the kids to bed, and then Matt and I had the difficult task of deciding what to watch on Netflix.
He said, "How about we watch an informative documentary?"
"I was feeling a bit more like a Rom-Com, or perhaps just a Com."
We went through all the Coms and could't find anything we both agreed on, so he said, "How about an informative documentary."
"Egh, alright!"
So we decided on Ken Burns's The Roosevelts. The series is made up of seven 2-hour episodes. I knew I wasn't in it for the long haul, but the hour and forty five minutes I did watch were very entertaining. Teddy was such an energetic character, and Franklin Delano (that names needs to make a comeback) had been so misunderstood throughout college.
Regardless of how impressive the story was, I had to go to bed, so I went to bed, and Matt carried on watching. The next day, I sent the kids in to wake him up. They sat at the foot of his bed barking like dogs until he finally rolled out of bed.
While I was getting the kids breakfast he decided he'd jump right back into the miniseries, but put his headphones in because the kids were jamming hard to Ricky Martin. He started laughing hysterically to himself, and then pulled out his earbuds and retold me the story he just heard about Teddy being such a long winded conversation dominator.
Kiki was running out the back door to play in the yard, and I asked her come sit down and finish her breakfast. She looked at me and did a head nod toward the outside, like "But, I'm going outside." And she went outside. Then my brother, who already thinks my kids are unruly, said, "Wow, Alicia, your kids are such good listeners."
George, who was sitting in his chair eating, started to sing, "Jingle fuck, jingle fuck, jingle all the fuck."
I just rolled my eys, threw the kitchen towel on the table, and sat down. Matt walked to the bathroom trying not to laugh, "Oh, I just learned a new song, thanks to George, The Potty Mouth."