The art of compromise

Me:  Get dressed.

Peanut:  No!  I am NOT going to school!
Me:  Yes you are.  Get dressed.

Peanut:  No I am not.

Me:  Yes you are.  Get dressed.

Peanut:  NO!  I'm not going.

Me:  Do you remember what happened with lacrosse?

Peanut:  Yes.  But I'm not going to school.

Me:  You are.  If I have to throw you over my shoulder again, you're going.  Now, if you'd prefer not to go to school naked, I suggest you get dressed.

Peanut:  Fine.  I'll go.  But I am NOT wearing underwear.

Me:  Fair enough.

Walked into a doorknob again...

D: That's quite a black eye.
Me: I know.
D:  Your arms are covered in bruises, too.
Me:  The Toddler keeps kicking the crap out of me.
Me again:  (yawning), man, why am I so tired all the time?
D:  Maybe it's cancer.
Me:  Probably.  Then I'll die and you'll have to raise these three kids all by yourself.
D:  No, it's not that kind of cancer.  It's just the kind where all your hair falls out but you still live.
Me:  Is it at least the kind of cancer where you lose weight?
D:  No.  You'll just have to have your asshole removed or something.