An ordinary conversation that suddenly turned very, very bad:
Me: C’mon, Miss Priss. Let’s go. I have several errands to run and I don’t have a lot of time. So whatever you think of how I look, forget it. I’m not changing.
Miss Priss: Ok.
Miss Priss: Mom?
Miss Priss: Nothing.
Me: What is it?
Miss Priss: Um, nothing.
Me: I told you, I’m not changing. What is it?
Miss Priss: You look, um…
Miss Priss: Well, if you’re not going to change, don’t worry about it.
Me: Ok. Do I look fat?
Miss Priss: No.
Me: Do I look ridiculous?
Miss Priss: No.Me: Do I look like, um, what do y’all call it, a poser?*Miss Priss: No. Worse.Me: Ah, geez, just tell me.Miss Priss: Why? It won’t matter.Me: Tell me.Miss Priss: You look like a redneck.[Silence.]Miss Priss: Mom? Can we go?Me: Be right there.Miss Priss: What are you doing?Me: Changing.(*‘Poser’ = kiss of death.)