Arlo, using a pair of toddler safety scissors to try to open his yogurt tube: “This isn’t working!”
Alison, opening the drawer for the utility kitchen shears commonly known as “my scissors”: “Here, buddy, try these. Those little scissors just aren’t going to cut it.”
I might have been the only one laughing at that one.
Alison, trying to get people to perk up in the morning when feeling significantly sub-perky myself: “Hey, guys, I have a joke! How do you know that Cecil (our pet bunny) is always listening to us?”
Alison: “He’s all ears!”
(They didn’t get it.)
Cecil had been trying to mark the sofa as his territory (god forbid we humans own any part of the downstairs anymore), and we’d been enforcing a new “no bunnies on the sofa without people on it too” policy to avoid territorial deposits of both liquid and solid form. One night, he kept trying to hop on up, only to have Brian scoop him to the floor repeatedly. Cecil wasn’t happy about this. Brian: “He’s so p!ssed off. Literally!” Alison: “Yeah, no sh!t.”
This time there were actually two people amused. Cecil? Not so much.