"Do I have warts?" I asked in amazement. "Sa-ay, how would you know if I have warts?"

"I don't. I mean, you might. That is..."

"Have you gotten rid of telemarketer yet?" my wife called to me.

"Not yet, honey. He's diagnosing my warts," I called back.

"No, you misunderstand," The Voice began.

"What warts?" my wife asked, as she came into room.

"He says I have warts," I explained.

"I did not say you had warts," The Voice tried to interject.

"Well, tell him you don't have any," my wife said.

"OK. I will," I said to my wife. Then into phone, "I think you have a mistake. I don't have warts. Where did you get my number from?"

"I have this list of names..." The Voice tried to reply.

"Could you please hang up?" My wife begged. "Just because telephone rings does not mean we have to answer it."

"OK," I said.

"Now please get rid of telemarketer so we can enjoy our nice, chilling dinner," she said with not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"My wife wants me to eat my dinner," I explained to The Voice. "Can I please have your telephone number so that we can continue this most educational discussion tomorrow morning?"

"I'm not going to give you my phone number," The Voice retorted.

"Don't be silly. How can I call you back if you don't give me your number?" I asked.

"I don't want you to call me back. I just..." The Voice tried to explain.

"Now hold on just a cotton-pickin' minute," I said. "You're one who wanted to talk to me in first place. I am doing you a favor by taking time to speak with you on a subject of your choosing. The least you can do is let me call you at time of my choosing, so that I can enjoy a nice hot meal with my wife. Sa-ay, are you one of those anti-family crusaders, calling people during dinnertime just to keep families from spending quality time together? I've heard about people like you..."

-------

A few minutes later, I returned to my dinner, which by now was as cold as a penguin with no feathers. "So you finally hung up on telemarketer?" my wife asked. "Good for you."

"Not quite," I admitted.

"What?" my wife started. "Is he still on phone?"

"I don't think so," I replied. "I think telemarketer hung up on me."

Just how fortuitous, I was about to learn.

As I headed toward my office to get some work done, she sniffed new diaper. Making a funny face..."Pee-ew! She did this on your watch. Here, you take her."

I hightailed it to my desk, "No way. I just changed her. You take her."

"She's all yours," she insisted.

"No more dirty diapers," I cried, ducking behind a chair. "Somebody call 9-1-1. My wife is chasing me with a loaded baby!"

Having children at either end of toddlerhood opens up all kinds of opportunities for injuries. It seems they each take their rolls very seriously. Little Sister drops as much food on floor as she can get her fingers into. And Little Lady is only too happy to help her little sister slip on that food later.

Of course, Little Sister is very polite, and she quickly reciprocates by grabbing Little Lady to hold her balance. Have you ever been grabbed by a 14-month old baby-toddler? She makes a pit bull's bite feel tender as a gentle ocean breeze.

And she always knows just right places to grab, so that any family member can easily compete with smoke alarm in volume, tone and free-style split-ear injury creation.

Yes, home has become an ominous booby trap, launching its attack on families where they least expect it. When even toaster and smoke alarm collaborate on home insurgencies, can all-out warfare be far behind?

But I will have final laugh. Just wait 'til I rewire smoke alarm. Who needs to warned about smoke, anyway? In this house we need to be warned about dirty diapers. Hey, I feel a new invention coming on.