One summer day, when tourists were lining up to enter a stately house, an old gentleman whispered to the person behind him, “Take a look at the little fellow in front of me with the poodle cut and the blue jeans. Is it a boy or a girl!?” “It’s a girl,” came the angry answer. “I ought to know. She’s my daughter.” “Forgive me, sir!” apologized the old fellow. “I never dreamed you were her father.” “I’m not,” said the parent with blue jeans. “I’m her
mother!”
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