At dinner last week, as we were discussing plans for my daughter's 11th birthday:
Husband: You're going to be how old, now?
Husband: Eleven?!? Oh, God no, save us.... You're practically a dang teenager!
Daughter: Not a teenager, Dad. I'm a "tween." That's what my friend D says, anyway.
Husband: A "tween"? What's a "tween"? Is that like the stuff that's "tween" my toes?
* * * *
He's lucky she didn't kill him in his sleep that night.