Towel Boy taught my sweet little girls a new twist on an old favorite of theirs: Roshambo, also known as Rock, Paper, Scissors.

His version replaces the "scissors" motion with an outstretched hitch hiker's thumb. It's called Rock, Paper, Dirty Hippie. Thus, throughout our lunch today at Culver's, the ÜberGirls were delightedly shrieking "Dirty Hippie! Dirty Hippie! Dirty Hippie!" Then, they asked their uncle, "What's a dirty hippie?"

"Oh, they're terrible!" said Towel Boy dramatically. "They don't bathe. They don't work. They don't go to school. They don't do anything but sit around."

"And go to Phish concerts," I added helpfully.

Wide-eyed, Elder whispered incredulously, "At the smelly lagoon?"

"Yes," said her uncle, stifling a laugh. "The fish concert at the smelly lagoon."

As a result of my brother-in-law's creative spin on Roshambo, the ÜberGirlies spent the entire ride home saying things like, "Let's play Dirty Hippie! You be Mr. Dirty Hippie and I'll be Mrs. Dirty Hippie!" "You're a dirty hippie!" "No I'm not! You're a dirty hippie!" Then, pointing into passing vehicles, "Is he a dirty hippie? Is HE a dirty hippie?"

Thanks, Towel Boy. I owe you one.