We're cooking breakfast when Hubs pisses me off.
Me: I will throw that bacon grease on you. [Pause.] But then you wouldn't be pretty anymore.
Hubs: I am pretty.
Hubs has a cousin who's about ten years younger than us and his wife happens to be black. Any time they come to visit we inadvertently say things that could be misconstrued as racist. As a mild example, this weekend we recommended a local restaurant known for a burger called the "Big Brown".
Sylvia (the wife) and I are in the car with my daughters and I'm trying to tell her in code that we've secretly signed my older girl up for ballet lessons.
Me: So we've enrolled [4yo] in lessons. . . um. . . Baryshnikov lessons.
Sylvia: I think I know who that is. . ? But. . .
Me: Let me think of a more contemporary reference. . . Oh! Misty Copeland! [Pause] Ohmigod. I swear she's the only ballerina I know right now and I did not say that just because she's a black woman.