she's not laughing with you, she's laughing at you

Speaking of laughing, I was changing my shirt the other day and my daughter walked in and started watching. That's uncomfortable enough as it is, since she's already prone to setting up a chair outside the bathroom door and waiting for me to exit. This time, she pointed at my squishy belly and started laughing. Now, she has not yet been exposed to the mechanism of American consumerism, and she doesn't subscribe to Elle Magazine. Yet somehow she knows that a flabby abdomen can be extremely humorous. So there she stands, pointing, and laughing away. I mock-shout at her, "Stop laughing at me!" To which she turns and runs away, hand over mouth, giggling to her heart's content.

Kids these days...