The first instance was back in San Francisco, when some aria that's a bit too high for my limited aging baritone - let's say Nessun Dorma - was playing in a restaurant but I decided "what the hell" and just pushed a little harder as I belted out "Vin-eh-CEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-ro!" in my best Prosciutto Pavarotti imitation. Neither of the kids even looked up from their meals.
Then, yesterday, we were walking home from school and Madge was complaining about lower back pains, a stomach pain and a slight queasiness, as well as a headache and irritability. I think they all come from the flu we're sharing (as a family is prone to do), but I said,
"Maybe you're pregnant."
Hoping, of course, for a shocked, "Dad-deeeeee-uh!"
Instead, she nonchalantly said,
AND LET ME F--IN' SUFFER OPEN-MOUTHED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK FOR A GOOD FOUR-MISSISSIPPI before adding,
"But I don't know how that would have happened."