I was getting ready to go out on New Year's Eve, a night I think we can all agree warrants a little more bling than the other 364 days of the year, when my 8-year-old daughter walked into my closet.
"Mommy, you look snazzy!"
"Snazzy, huh? That's a good word. I feel snazzy."
G-d, that kid is cute, I thought to myself, as I slipped on my snazzy stilettos.
"Yeah, Mom, you look like a hooker!"
Here's where you should insert the sound effect of a record being scratched to a halt, in the middle of a beautiful ballad.
"I'm sorry, what?"