Sticks, stones, and eye-rolling groans

Today's insult, courtesy of Boy Wonder:

"You're a...a...a...MEAN UNDERWEAR! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE!"

(I think that was right after I told him, for about the fiftieth time, that he could wait until after the kitchen table was cleared off to play with his paper and glue. Or after I told him to stop sliding off the arm of the couch, or perhaps after I told him that really, not being able to find the safety scissors did not warrant a full-blown floor-flinging tantrum and ten minutes of wailing.)

Overheard at the grocery store's deli counter:

"I am just so sick of cutting the cheese."

To their credit, the other employees did not break out into mad giggle fits or say, "Haha! Well, I'm sick of you cutting the cheese too!" Instead, they commiserated morosely with, "Well, I'm sick of this JOB." I suppose that if you work full-time at the deli counter, any jokes about cutting the cheese get old real fast.