Typical scene in our house:
"No one's home!" I call.
[renewed vigorous knocking]
*sigh* "Come in."
"Well, hello yourself, Penelope. How are you?"
"I'm fabulous, Penelope! I came to show you my new guinea pig [stuffed]. His name is Ben."
I immediately flash on THIS movie.
"I'm sorry, Penelope. I don't allow rodents in my house. Please remove it or I will have to ask you to leave."
"But... but... he's really nice and fluffy! He won't bite you, I promise. See, look!" [pretends stuffed guinea pig is licking me]
I shriek theatrically. Our dog
"HOWARD-- I MEAN, FRANK! NO! PWOTZ, FRANK!" [she means plotz]
(Yes, my daughter commands my chihuahua in German. What.)
"Hi, Steve! Wanna see my guinea pig? His name's Ben."
"Wha? Steve? Steve who? Howard, knock it off!"
"Daddeeeeeee! I mean, Steve! YOU'RE Steve! And that's not Howard, that's Pluto! I mean Frank! Penelope, tell him!"
I'm distracted because I am too busy Googling if copious amounts of wine is an effective treatment for schizophrenia. For me.