L'Ailee called me up, about to wet her pants laughing at this exchange from her afternoon middle-school gymnastics class (a/k/a "Another Excuse to Get the Hormonal Yard-Apes Out of Your House").
Eleven-year-old girl blurts out to her: "I hope I'm like you when I grow up."
L'Ailee: "Thank you. But be careful what you wish for."
Girl thinks, then says: "Except I want to keep my hair long and marry a man. And no offense, but I hope my voice isn't as deep as yours."
L'Ailee: "Fair enough, dear."
I told her she should've taken the opportunity to tell her student not to start smoking, even though it's really being Siberian and from a family of deep-voiced women (I've talked to a few by phone) that blessed her with that sexy dark-chocolate contralto of hers.
I love kids that age. Don't know if I want one in my house, but they're fun for a few hours, 'cause their mental filter's just starting to get installed.