Tonight, after we had all eaten a nice spaghetti dinner (well, really everyone ELSE had, I was naturally still trying to eat mine), George surprised the girls with some Dibs ice cream treats for dessert.

The kids had already gotten down from the table and were in the living room, singing loudly to some song at the top of their lungs, Hayley in particular.

George: Hayley!
Hayley: LALALALALALALA
George: HAYLEY! Come get your ice cream!
Hayley: LALALALALALALLA
George: HAYLEY!
Hayley: LALALALALALALALAAAAAAAAA
George: Hey, Celine!
Hayley: What?
George: Your ice cream!
Hayley: Oh, thanks.
Sherry: Oh my GOD.
George: What?
Sherry: That was so rude. I think that was the most offensive thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.
George: What are you talking about?
Sherry: You called our DAUGHTER … CELINE! That’s just awful.

I hope she doesn’t need therapy.

(Okay, honestly, I do realize that technically speaking, Celine Dion is a good singer. A very good singer. But a. I can’t stand the majority of her songs, b. She’s a diva, c. I have hated her since the day she walked up to accept a Canadian singing award and then refused to accept it because she’s not Canadian, she’s from Quebec and HELLO BITCH, decades later this province still hasn’t separated so shut the fuck up. Plus, it’s really annoying that if you try to eat in any Nickel’s restaurant, the tasty food is tainted by the fact that they are required to play a Celine song every 15 minutes just because she’s part owner, jeez.)

Luckily she hasn’t yet asked me who this “Celine” person is.