Plus I have a sense of humor which is nothing short of terrifying.
Since you amended “cute” with “terrifying,” I suppose it’s valid.
I do feel a little guilty.
“How terrible, Marge! But how the heck did you and Larry contract body lice, ringworm, _and_ pinkeye at Disneyworld?!?”
“Well, er, it’s kind of embarrassing. But…”
“Marge is too shy to say it: we didn’t go to Disneyworld. We, um, we left little Jerry with his grandma and spent the week at a filthy series of Tijuana swingers’ clubs.”
“YES! Absolutely. Gosh, what could possibly be more embarrassing than that? But Larry’s right: that’s where we were. We never went to Disneyworld at all.”
“Funny how the rash ends right around your faces.”
“Yeah, how about that. Hey, can I offer you some more Milano cookies, Trish? How’s your drink, there, Stan?”
There’s this scene in the movie A Bronx Tale where one character asks another if they would rather be respected or feared. I bring it up because this image is just one more reason that I both respect and fear you. (You’re like the Chazz Palminteri of the comics world.)