Morgan stands near the television, hands (and shirt) pushed down into the back of her diaper.
"Morgan, are you poopy?"
('Cause we've learned through bitter experience that she likes to "check" on the poops. Had to leave Barnes & Noble last night for that very reason. See....don't you want kids?)
M, starting a bit in surprise: "No, I have harps."
Brendan and I: "Um, what's that you got?"
M: "Harps. I have harps."
B: "Do you mean 'farts'?"
M, apparently wondering how she got the stupidest parents in the world: "Yes. Harps."
There you have it. Little girls don't get gas. They get harps. If only they were as pleasant as their namesake!