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.

Me: Ready?

Miss Priss: Mom?

Me: What?

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…

Me: What???

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.)
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