This morning, I was sitting on the bottom step as Charlotte stood behind me, giving me a "scratch massage" by rubbing her hairbrush on my back. My bra strap caught her brush through my t-shirt a couple of times, and after the third time she stopped and grabbed the neck of my shirt, pulling it back and nearly choking me.

"What are you doing, Charlotte?" I asked, laughing.

"I'm lookin' for your bras. Are you wearing bras?" she replied.

"Yes, I'm wearing a bra," I answered, still laughing.

Jeff overheard the whole conversation, and interjected, "Charlotte, that's like the kind of thing I did with my babysitters when I was a kid."

"What!?" I said.

"You knew that!" Jeff said. "I've told you that before."

"Uh, no!"

"Yeah, I had one particular babysitter...I said, 'Hey, do you wear a bra? Cuz I wear a t-shirt,'" Jeff said. "I was hoping she'd engage me in a frank conversation about bras."

"Didn't happen?"

"No, sadly."