Overheard.

Background:  I was sitting on the couch with my one leg crossed over my other knee.  I was wearing cut off jeans, capri length.  Liv had a pair of scissors in her hand (yes, I know she is too young to be playing with sharp, big people scissors).

Liv starting brushing my leg with the open scissors, as if to cut my prickly, "three days ago" shaved legs.

"Mommy, we have to cut this.  Because you are not a boy."

Shot to the ego.