Your Days Are Numbered, Kiddo

After I have been given an iPad as a gift, my husband needs the passcode for it. My son is twenty.

Son: “Mum, Dad wants the passcode that you chose for the IPad.”

He gives me no time to answer before he laughs.

Son: “I bet you forgot what it is; I told you not to choose a number too hard to remember. Hey, Dad, she’s probably forgotten.”

I was coming to them as I wasn’t going to yell the code across the house, and I prattle off a six-digit number when I enter the room.

Son: “What was that again?”

I repeat the number.

Son: “How can you remember a ridiculous number like that? What do you think, Dad?”

Husband: “I don’t know. It must mean something to her; no idea what, though.”

I slowly repeat the number and add two more numbers to the end.

Son: “That’s eight numbers; we only need six.”

Husband: “Who knows what goes on in your mother’s head?”

I roll my eyes and talk even slower, adding two more numbers this time to the beginning of the number.

Me: “Zero… Two… [the rest of numbers].”

Son: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Husband: *finally catching on* “Um… It’s our house phone number. Better be quiet now before she hits us with something.”