My Wife and I Discuss Our Daughter's Underwear (Or, Overhearing Myself)
"Have you seen our daughter?" asked Debbie, settling on the couch with a plate of birthday cake and ice cream.
"She and her cousins just left," I answered.
"Where are they going?"
"To the bathroom, so Kayleigh can show them her new underwear."
"It's Scooby Doo underwear."
"I know," I said, "I dressed her this morning, remember?"
"Well, I laid it out for you."
"Yes, but, I washed them and folded them, so they would be there in the drawer for you to lay out."
"If I hadn't picked them out at Wal-Mart, you wouldn't have been able to wash them."
"Well, I fathered the children who made the underwear in Kathy Lee's sweatshop."
"I didn't know you were overseas."
"I mailed it in!"
"Anyway, I thought we were raising her not to worship material objects."
"Well, we are trying, but there she is nonetheless, proudly showing off her Scooby Doo underwear."