Sometimes It's Hopeless

Well, it's official. I used to think that my father had scrambled brains because he smoked too much when he was younger or something. I was wrong. His brains are just scrambled. I know this because it's genetic.

My mother just walked into her room and picked up a shopping bag.
"Why is this on my bed?"
"Oh," I said. "Ari probably put it there. It's daddy's scarf."
"Tie!"

Earlier today:
"Mommy, there's something in the dishwasher that's staining my clothes."
"Washing machine."
"Right," I said. "See, I know it's not a specific piece of clothing because my pink skirt got stained with blue and my khaki skirt got something blue, too."
"Those are both dark, aren't they?"
"No, the khaki was in white water."
After crying from laughter (or was it sadness?), my mother told me that I should stop trying to speak English.