“You know how Mother hates it when we’re late.”
“Well, I told you we should’ve left earlier. Y’know, it’s the same damn thing every year. It’s always ‘Where are my blue shoes, dear?’ or ‘Dad, I can’t find my Marilyn Bronson CD.’.”
“Uh, Marilyn Manson.”
“Well, whatever her name is.”
“Uh, she’s a guy, Dad.”
“Marilyn? A guy? Ooh, what’s the world coming to?”