When Is A Pistol Not A Pistol

My youngest son graduated from John Carroll University in Cleveland with a major in French. So far, you're about as excited about this news as I was at the time. When he was in high school Latin was a four year requirement and he made first team all-state in that category so he's got that going for him. I don't want you to think he was a scholar only because he was also an outstanding basketball player.
Beginning his junior year of college he studied abroad in Tour, France. This town supposedly speaks the most pure form of French of all the French speaking countries in the world. He was so proficient at the language that when he graduated from college he won the award as the outstanding French linguist in his school. The Professor presenting the award stated that he could speak the language better than she. While studying in Tour he lived in a boarding house with twenty other students from various countries around the world. The home was run by a lady named Genevieve(pronounced in the French fashion, of course). Lizzie and I visited our son in 1997 and stayed in France for two weeks. This lady who ran the place was, at one time in the late 40's and 50's, a model for Christian Dior. My son was absolutely taken with her to the point that she was almost like a mom. He thought so much of her that when his first daughter was born he convinced his wife to name the child after this most beautiful lady.
Friends, think demure, petite, dainty: trust me when I write, that ain't our Genevieve. Don't get me wrong. This child is adorable. She's super intelligent and very cute. She eats like an elephant but never puts on weight. Her favorite snacks are snap peas, red and green peppers and fruit. She also likes anything beginning or ending with any word that sounds like candy and ice cream.
Old timers talk about their grandchildren as being pistols. My Genevieve isn't a pistol. She's a semi-automatic. I've often thought that if I wanted someone eliminated from this earth Genevieve would be the first one I turned to. The words 'sick em' was invented for Genevieve.
You might recall that last summer, just after she turned four, I took her to the Columbus Zoo. Standing in line ahead of us was a real hot looking babe in tight fitting jeans. On the pocket of said jeans hung a one inch strand of thread. Vieve walked up and put her left hand on the lady's left cheek and tugged at the thread on the right. Smartly, I stepped back five paces because I saw what was coming.
Genevieve goes to the Pixie Play School, a pre-school. As soon as she walks into home after an arduous day of coloring  she asks, sometimes demands, that someone go outside and play baseball with her. If she doesn't get fifty swings in every day then it's a bad one. Her favorite baseball player is Joey Votto of the Cincinnati Reds.
Well, Granda Hawkeye called her house today to check in. You see, Genevieve turns five next Tuesday, July 3. I asked her if she was having a party and, "yes, she said, she was. I then asked if I could come. "No, Grandpa, it's just for girls". "But what if I brought a present", I asked. "Well, yes you can come but as soon as you give me the present you'll have to leave". The final question from me was, "Are you excited about turning five"?. "Yes, I am", she said. "I'm tired of being four".
How lucky can one guy be to have such an original? Except, I've have eight more of them to make this life a more joyful adventure.