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My mom was repainting our bathroom. My dad was standing behind her, frowning slightly.
I stood by and listened to them squabble like two clucking hens. "You said yellow," my dad remarked. "I thought you meant a deep, dark yellow. This . . . this color . . . it's . . ."
"It's called canary yellow," my mom answered.
"Canary yellow?!" my dad repeated in disbelief. "What? Were they all out of banana yellow?"
"Don't get wise," my mom replied sharply, her back to the doorway. Still, I could hear the smile in her voice. She enjoyed these little duels with my father.
"It's too bright!" my dad said. "We'll all go blind! Think of the children, my darling. We'll need sunglasses just to go to the bathroom," my dad protested.
"Oh, hush," my mom replied. And with a neat little twirl, she swiftly turned and dabbed paint on my father's nose.
They both laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.
Parents are so weird sometimes.
Still, ya gotta love 'em, I guess.
"Jigsaw!" my dad exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," I answered. "Maybe too long.
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