(Standing in the check-in line at the airport, watching one of those stage mom types encourage her just-barely-able-to-walk daughter to push her stroller, subsequently holding up the line, running into people’s luggage, injuring innocent bystanders, etc.  Stage mom shouts, “Oh, honey, look at you push!  Yah!”  Rolling my eyes, “Yes, this is the perfect place for your daughter to practice her budding pushing skills…dumbass.”)

G: “Honey, you know what I love best about you?  Your patience and your love of small children.”

Me: “My most admirable qualities.”   

G: “Sure you don’t want to have one of those?”

Me: “Alzheimer’s or not, I’m not having one.”

G: “So who’s going to take care of us when we’re old and decrepit?”

Me: “Our plan is to be rich enough that we can hire live-in caretakers.”

G: “Oh, so they can rob us blind?”

Me: “Okay, we’ll hire nuns.  Nurse nuns.”

G: “Nurse Nun, it’s time for you to wash out my bedsores.” 

Me: “See, that’s the ticket.”