Welcome To Fight Club

     I will now proceed to break the first rule of Fight Club.  And the second one.  This afternoon as we pulled into our driveway, Skeletor and Sassafrass unbuckled themselves and jumped into the "trunk" of our minivan.  I put that in quotations because I don't know if the area behind the third row seat of a minivan counts as a trunk.  But, I digress.  Anyway, they leaped with abandon into the trunk-like area in the back of our van.  And before my eyes, they transformed from sweet children happily at play into bare-knuckle bruisers not unlike a certain gypsy character from another Brad Pitt movie.  They were SCRAPPIN', ya'll!  Names were called, skin was scratched, someone asked me to hold their earrings, and one of them might have pulled out a razor.  It was insanity!  Then, sweet Sassafrass straight up cold-cocked her brother.  Punched him dead in the eye.  I'm not going to lie; it was slightly impressive coming from a six year old.  And then they both ran off crying in opposite directions, and it was over.  Total time spent in the ring?  Less than five seconds.  Bookies all over West Tennessee are cursing our names tonight.

Dramatic recreation.