A late night conversation in the car.
BUTTERFLY: I can’t wait until I’m ten!
BF: Because then I can get my piercings!
BF: I just have to decide where to get them.
ME: In your ears, of course. I’m not paying for nipple rings.
BF: No! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! No!
It’s a new morning in America.
One in which we now have to specify which Aurora mass-shooting we’re taking about.
Forty-Five is on TV, expressing (in his distinctively third-grade reading-level way) his displeasure over Congress’ lack of funds for his border wall.
The Butterfly walks in, stares for a moment, and says “Is that Kellyanne Con-Artist on Trump’s left?”
Though secretly amused by her wordplay, I feel it is my parental duty to correct her.
“No sweetie. Kellyanne is on Trump’s right. She’s on your left.”