Why I don’t get invited to many parties

An Italian restaurant in Glasgow, a few weeks ago. I’m there with my wife to meet friends I haven’t seen for months, and their friends who I haven’t seen for a few years. One of the latter group asks me about my dog, Megan.

Me: She’s a monster. She eats shoes, digs up the lawn, chews the wall…

Girl: Yeah, but they grow out of it. Eventually.

Me: I hope so.

Girl: My one’s the same. I have to keep an eye on her all the time or she’s trashing the place. You can’t leave her alone for even a second.

Me: It’s a pain, isn’t it? But they’re so cute that they can get away with it.

Girl: Oh, absolutely. I’ll be glad when she calms down a bit though.

Me: So what breed is she?

Long silence.

Girl: She’s my daughter.