Lately my daughter insists we refer to each other as Penelope. Her father is addressed as Steve, which bugs him to no end.  (I think he may be wondering what our mailman's name is.)  And the dog fluctuates between Pluto or Frank.

Typical scene in our house:

[knock knock]

"No one's home!" I call.

"Mo-oom!"

[renewed vigorous knocking]

*sigh*  "Come in."

"Heeeelloooooooooo, Penelope!"

"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."

Fin Penelope is flustered.

"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 Frank begins barking and comes running because he is concerned he is missing out on something unbelievably exciting.  He sees the stuffed toy and tries to snatch it from Fin Penelope.

"HOWARD-- I MEAN, FRANK!  NO!  PWOTZ, FRANK!"  [she means plotz]

(Yes, my daughter commands my chihuahua in German.  What.)

Fin's Penelope's daddy walks into the room to see what all the commotion is about.

"Hi, Steve!  Wanna see my guinea pig?  His name's Ben."

Daddy Steve misses this entire greeting as he is intent on forcing the dog to be absolutely quiet and nonmoving via the sheer force of his angry face, having been unsuccessful in his attempt to catch him.

"STEVE!!"

"Wha?  Steve?  Steve who?  Howard, knock it off!" 

Daddy Steve has forgotten who he is, which pisses Fin  Penelope 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.