My children are ruthless.
Darcy, 7, and Carter, 3, burned David and I twice today in a thoroughly humiliating fashion.
Exhibit A: This morning, we took the kids to Steak-n-Shake for breakfast. I told Darcy that I used to come that very restaurant when I was in high school. She pointed to the original Steak-n-Shake pictures from 1937 and asked, "You mean back when those pictures were taken?"
While David nearly choked on his coffee, Darcy patted my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Mom. You're still cool, even if you're old."
David wasn't laughing for long.
Since he wears closed toe shoes all of the time, David is usually our, "What does this nail polish color REALLY look like?" guinea pig. His silvery pedicure was getting strange looks in the gym locker room, so I gave him a more subtle champagne polish with shimmery gold glitter. I was just finishing up with his toes, when Carter walked into the room. I asked if he wanted his toenails painted and he responded, "No thanks, I'm not a girl."
I have no one to blame but myself. Clearly, sense of humor is genetic.