It must have been the rhinestones
So I'm in the bathroom incurring what efficiency experts Lillian and Frank Gilbreth called unavoidable delay. I've allowed Charlie to come in. He's busying himself by unrolling several yards of toilet paper, jiggling the flush handle on the commode, smoothing his hair down with the toilet brush, that kind of thing. It's all going fine until he points and says in a tone of wonder, "Mama's bottom is fancy."
Kid, you don't know the half of it.