"Kate! Why is your clean outfit in the dirty laundry pile?"
"Dad said for me to put it in the pile because he said I was 'all over the place' in it yesterday."
"But it isn't dirty," I whined.
"I'm just tellin' ya, that's what Dad said."
"Kate," I moaned, "your father is killin' me."
"Well, Mom..." she said in a wise-beyond-her-five-years voice, "most husbands will do that ya know."
Earlier this year, I was fixing mashed potatoes to take to church for a funeral dinner. Kate, who for the first five years of her life, had been very, very "anti-mashed potato" decided recently that this fine American dish was now on her top five list of favorite foods.
"Mmmmm...are those mashed potatoes? May I have a bowl of them?"
"No Kate, these are for Mr. ______________'s funeral dinner."
"Mom, didn't Mr. ___________ die? Isn't he in heaven?"
"Yes Kate, he is," I answered somberly.
"Well Mom," she reasoned, "he can't eat 'em."
"Grrrrrrrrrrr," muttered Kate as she left my presence on her way to do a job I'd given her to do.
"What's the matter with you?" asked her father.
"It's your wife," she said, pointing in my direction, "she's driving me crazy!"