“Car-git. Car-git,” Shef repeated as we breezed into The Quarry on an emergency paci run -- we’d officially lost all spares, and we haven’t gotten around to implementing Project Wean per Dr. G.’s recommendations.

“What’s he saying?” Dan asked. I shrugged – I’d never the word before.

“Car-git,” Shef insisted. “Car-GIIT!” The matter was clearly urgent.

“Um, Target?” I asked, as Dan pulled into a spot just beneath the trademark bullseye.

Shef laughed. “Car-git!” he confirmed.

We exhanged a look -- a look that could be roughly translated as, "We are so lucky the f-word isn't isn't part of his repertoire" -- and slammed our doors.