(It's 5:30 am. I am uncomfortably sandwiched between two wriggly 3-year-olds. We're lying quietly and calmly, desperately hoping that at least one of them will go back to sleep. In a regular-sized double bed this means lying on your side, so we're cuddling one each. Mine farts.)
M: What was that?
F: Fireworks
M: Fireworks?
F: Pumpy fireworks!
This reduced me to giggles for several minutes, shattering the theoretically soporific ambiance.
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