Dinner Conversations

First, because it still makes me giggle, the following exchange from dinner last night withHubby and Dad at T.G.I. Friday's:

Waitress: So, did you save room for dessert?

Dad: Oops.


Then there was tonight.

Medium Fry is being potty-trained. Mom asked her tonight, after dinner but before dessert, if she needed to use the potty before she had her ice cream. "Is your Pull-Up dry?"

Medium vigorously nods her head, and Mom goes to dish up her ice cream.

Meanwhile, Dad croons, "When you walk through a storm..."

Having sung the infernal song in high school chorus, I knew the next line, and I also knew Dad was going to modify it to "...keep your Pull-Up high..."

I started pounding my forehead with the heel of my hand, visualizing Medium hauling her Pull-Up nearly up to her armpits, and unable to stave off the giggles. "I'm not nearly as visual a thinker as my husband," I gasp between what's now full-blown guffaws, "but still, all I can see is her yanking her Pull-Up up to here!" I indicate Steve-Urkel-waist height.

This gets both Mom and Dad going, and I realize that the past three nights of insomnia mean that I am dangerously close to laughing until I start crying, at which point I'll bawl simply because I can't laugh anymore. Tears are already leaking out because I'm laughing so hard, and the girls are asking if I'm crying. I bring myself under control, assure the girls that I'm just laughing because Boppa said something funny, and turn my attention to my own ice cream.

But I'll tell you, just thinking about it makes me want to giggle all over again.