“Dad,” said Junior, “I don’t think I understand women.”

Dad chuckled. “That’s common. Men never really know what women are thinking.”

“Yeah,” said Junior. “They open their mouths and all I hear is ‘blah blah blah.’ Literally!”

“Literally?”

“Literally.”

“Blah blah blah?” asked Mom, sticking her head in the door.

When his mother got home, the floor of the house was littered with nuts, sardines, bamboo, and corn.

“What in the world is going on?” shouted Mom.

“I’m hunting for a qualeor!” he grinned.

“No, you’re hunting for a grounding,” scolded Mom.

And then the qualeor burst through the window.

If you have an idea, why not describe it in a comment, or draw a picture of it (while it’s bursting through the window, perhaps?).

“I hate cereal! I tell you this every. Single. Morning.”

“If you want waffles or bacon you’re free to prepare them yourself.”

“No way! That’s a MOM’s job!”

“Are you paying me?”

He was supposed to be. It cost thirty bucks an hour to get someone from Made Of Maids.