In case I ever wondered if Zoe was actually my child...and the near-identical-ness of Zoe and Charles wasn't tip-off enough...
...this conversation was.
The setting: Zoe's room. We're getting her ready for her soccer game. It's bright and sunny and we're surrounded by books and Legos and stuffed animals and all sorts of brightly colored posters.
Me: Zoe, put your pants on. You can't play soccer without britches.
Zoe: <Freezes, thinks, face lights up> Oh, that just gave me the BEST idea for a story EVER.
Me: Oh yeah? What is it?
Zoe: <Giggles> I can't tell you. It's gross.
Me: Oh, okay, cool.
Zoe: Okay, I'll tell you. It's about a zombie...who doesn't wear pants! <Laughs hysterically>
Me: You should SO write that for me.
Zoe: But I can't! <Doubles over with laughter> You'd have to see his <whispers> private bits!
Me: <Giggling, now, too> Oh, right. Yeah, I guess you would.
Zoe: At least...unless another zombie bites them off.