(While driving down a rather busy street with my 10-year-old daughter, a jeep flies out of a parking lot, cutting me off, and forcing me to hit the brakes to keep from rear ending it.)

Me: “Gah, you stupid b****!”

Daughter: “Daddy, you shouldn’t talk like that.”

Me: “I know, but that lady pulled out in front of us and almost caused an accident.”

Daughter: “How do you know it’s a lady?”

Me: “Because I can see her long hair through her back windshield.”

Daughter: “That doesn’t mean it’s a woman. It could be a hippy.”

(While driving in the car with my five-year-old daughter, I eavesdrop on an imaginary conversation that she has decided to have with Michael Jackson. She is switching back and forth between his voice and her own.)

Michael’s Voice: “But why don’t you like me?”

Daughter’s Voice: “You look creepy. And you sound like a girl.”

Michael’s Voice: “But…”

Daughter’s Voice: “I don’t care. Why are you even here? This is our car.”

(I should probably have her checked out.)

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Me: “Mom, my foot hurts. Kiss it and make it better.”

(I balance on one foot, and she kisses the top of the one that hurts.)

Mom: “Just don’t hurt your butt. That’s where I draw the line.”

(It’s Father’s Day. A gay couple and their kids walk into the store and get a bit of a cold reception from the employee behind the register. A boy at one of the tables, 5 years old or so, is watching this.)

Boy: “Mommy, why does that family have two daddies?”

(The kid was kind of loud, and the gay couple look over, expecting a bad reaction.)

Mom: “Sweetie, some families have two mommies, or two daddies, or only one mommy or daddy. Not every family is like our family, and whatever their family is like, that’s okay.”

Boy: “It’s okay to have two daddies?”

Mom: “Yes, it’s okay to have two daddies. They’re allowed to love whoever they want, just like everybody else.”

Boy: “Really?”

Mom: “Yep.”

Boy: “Okay.”

(The kid finishes ice cream quietly.)

Boy: “…Mommy?”

Mom: “Yes, dear?”

Boy: “If I had two daddies, would I get two ice creams on Father’s Day?”

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(My mom asks me to wipe down the table.)

Mom: “Now, remember to use a clean, dry towel.”

Me: “Really? Because I was planning to use a wet, dirty one, just to see if the opposite would happen. The more I use it, the dryer and cleaner it gets.”

Mom: “…Shut up.”