Of all the things I need Child Protective Services to misunderstand

We all went to a Halloween party at my mom-in-law’s house this weekend. Ava, Ed, My Honey and I all dressed as the guys from Duck

Here’s My Honey as Willie Robertson. Dead ringer

Dynasty. My kids, The Incredible Hulk and a pirate, were allowed to come as it was their grandmother’s house and all our babysitters were at the party anyway.

They found another kid at the party and the three of them ran around squealing and having a great time.

Suddenly, The Bandit ran up to us, breathless. “We just got out of the whore house. We barely made it out alive!”

“You did what?” I tried not to shriek but, really, that was quite unexpected.

“We just got out of the whore house. There’s clowns in there.” He was panting from his sugar high and God only knew what else.

“Oh!” I finally got it. “The horror house!”

I really need to work with that kid on his pronunciation.