Dirty Laundry: Part I

So, I'm going to try and relate this very funny story that happened last night. I will do my best to do it justice. The image is what's really funny about this story. I have to somehow convey the image. Because I'm sitting here cracking up just thinking about this image. So, somehow I have to telepathically pass this image to you all for your own viewing enjoyment. Well, ok, not telepathically, but typi-pathically, perhaps?

Here goes.

Me and the kids are sprawled out in our living room, complete with our nigh-nights, watching Ice Age for the sixteenth time in seven days, when there's a knock at our door. "Hi, Tim." It's our upstairs neighbor. OK, I need to back up a little and go into slightly further detail on the nigh-nights. If you do not have children you may have no idea that sleeping attire may be called night-nights, but without that first T. It's a rugrats sort of word that gets all slurred together while spilling from the mouths of young babes, which is a whole language you begin to adopt as a parent. People at work or on the street ask me if I'm a parent when I say things like, "I'll be right back. I have to go potty."