Him: Last night I came into the bedroom to use the bathroom and you were snoring...
Me: I don't snore.
Him:...and I came back out and I thought you were still in bed and then I heard a noise...yes, you do....
Me: No, I don't.
Him: ...in her room and you were in there...
Me: I said I do not snore.
I'm feeling very Grown Up right now because for the first time in my life I made food for someone (my sister) who is sick (recovering from getting the girls done).
Me: I wonder how I make this casserole brown on top.
Him: Move it to the top rack.
Me: It's on the top rack already.
Him: I could get my blow torch.
Me: That is not helpful.
Him: Call your mother.
(Slamming doors is a big no-no in this house because 1) there are better ways to express your frustration and 2) it knocks down mama's pictures. One slam, we ignore. Two slams, you get a warning. Three slams, you get another warning (yeah, I know, I'm awesome at parenting). Slamming it 4 or 5 times in a row, gets your mama upstairs and your papa into the garage for the wrench. Please notice the "r" in that last word.)
The kid: I'd shut my door if I had one.
Me: Whose fault is that?
The kid: Yours.