Listening to a radio feature about the terrible private lives of CIA operatives --
Mom: You see? Things could be worse. What if you were in the CIA?
Pop: How do you know I'm not? How do you know I'm not a hired assassin?
Mom: Right, and how do you know I'm not a wildly successful author? Maybe I've published dozens of novels under a pen name and have millions in royalties stashed away in a Swiss bank account.
Both snort derisively at the delusions of the other.
