Conversations with boys

My dad: So how much longer til you're a lawyer?

Me: A year and a half of classes, then I have to pass the bar.

My dad: Ah, well, I've passed a lot of bars in my day (*beat*) Come to think of it, no, I hardly ever pass bars. I tend to go in and check them out.

* * *

My brother: So, congrats on the new class rank. Mom told me. I guess that makes you XX percent better than the other lawyers. You know what they call lawyers who graduate the bottom of their class? Esquire.

Me: Only if they pass the bar.

My brother: What's it matter? You're all gonna flood the unemployment rolls in about two years. Speaking of, no job yet, huh?

(Note: My brother is working on a grad degree in some esoteric (read: unemployable) field and has never held a real job in his life. Pot? Hello? This is the kettle. You're black.)

* * *

Me: Hey, why don't I make dinner tonight?

Bullshark: So are you calling for pizza or calling for wings?

* * *

Clownfish: I am pretending to be a goose! Honk! Honk!

Me: (just arriving home) Well come, give me a hug.

Clownfish: I can't! I have wings! I don't have arms! I'm a goose! Honk! Honk!