"What Did You Say?"

"My feces itch!" Krista says in a loud, whiny voice from the back seat of the car.

What?!!!

I look back at her to make sure I understood her correctly. She's frantically scratching her foot, her face all scrunched up like she's in serious pain.

"Krista, I don't think you mean 'feces,' that's your urine and your poop." Leah says in her loving, sisterly way. "If your urine and poop itch, you'd be scratching your butt, not your feet." Then she just turns and looks out her window like this was a normal exchange.

Krista just says, "Then why did you say your feces itched yesterday? Did your urine and poop itch?"

"First of all, I didn't say, 'feces,' I said, 'feetsies,' because I know the difference. Second of all, stop scratching your dirty, filthy dead skin all over the car! That's disgusting."

"Whatever, you knew what I meant."

End of conversation.