After spending an oh so fun filled weekend with the Grand Parents, I found, to my absolute horror, that I had, in fact, picked up some of the vernacular commonly used by the old. Warsh, for example, was a part of my vocabulary for about the next three days. Warsh? you say. Yes, indeed, warsh. Warsh the dishes. Throw your clothes in the warsh. Has this cup been warshed. I had obtained the opposite of a Boston accent, instead of droppin my 'r's, I gained them. Old. The trash had also undergone a transformation and was now 'The Rubbish'. So next to my psuedoboston dialect I now sounded british. Terrible. Why can't old people just talk normal. Nobody says warsh or rubbish, or crick, for that matter. The word creek has two 'e's in it for a reason. And Melk, yes Melk, not milk, but Melk. Needless to say, if the lipstick stains on my cheeks hadn't throw me over the edge, the oldish jargon would have done the job plenty.