When my daughters eat with their hands, I shout
"I'm raising princesses, not pigs!"

And then they screw up their noses and reply with an
"OINK! OINK!"

They are princess pigs.
Priceless.

But, Lord, just a little bit of class would be nice.

The funniest part is where we are stupid enough to bathe Baby Ginge before dinner and then she sits there in the high chair and runs her grubby fingers through her hair, grinning at us.

But if it's something red or orange, like spaghetti, or pumpkin, or Shiraz, or goat's blood, then we don't worry so much because it just blends in with her hair, so you can't really see it.

Which is useful.