Loud mouths

Modern medicine has given us inhalable insulin, face transplants, laser surgery and new and improved aspirin coatings. But still, with all this technical wonder, can you believe the voice boxes on children can't be wired with volume controls?

I know. I asked my pediatrician.

My children came into this world with two sound levels: loud and asleep. Knowing this, I have no idea why I thought it would be a good idea to take them into the office with me the other day. I suppose right before I decided to do this, they were asleep in their beds looking all cute and everything. The moment we stepped in the office door, though, my kids acted as if I worked in a Boeing wind tunnel.

"Dad, is this your desk!" my son yelled.

"Dad, do you get recess!" my daughter screamed.

"Dad, she's touching me!"

"Knock it off!" I hissed as I pulled them into the bathroom with me and closed the door. "You are embarrassing me," I said sternly. "People are trying to work here."

"It's not my fault," my son yelled, his voice reverberated painfully against the small, enclosed space. "Is too!" my daughter barked. "Is not!"

"Dad, what are you looking at?"

I glanced away from the mirror. "I'm checking to see if my ear drums are bleeding!" I lectured them for another three minutes.

Finally, my kids agreed to keep their voices down if I'd take the wads of toilet paper out of their mouths. As we opened the bathroom door, my son bellowed: "Man, it stinks in there!" I was ready to shepherd them into the car when Marge in accounting urged me to introduce my kids around the office. Grabbing my son and daughter's hands, she ushered them from cubicle to cubicle.

"You have such well behaved children, Ken," she remarked. That's not saying much. When Marge brought her kids to work last month, they tipped over the water cooler. Finally, I stopped outside my boss's door and looked at my son and daughter warning them not to embarrass me.

They nodded. As we walked in his room, my kids huddled behind my back giggling and playing under my sports coat. At least they weren't yelling, I thought to myself as they playfully tugged on my belt and pulled out my shirttail. I stood there trying to adjust myself and smile at the same time. Then, my daughter peeked her face around, and as my boss asked her about her favorite TV show, my son grabbed the back of my pants and shouted out my underwear size. Excusing myself, I put them both into the car. As we drove away, I jumped on my cell phone to call my wife.

"He announced my underwear size!" I told her. "My boss just looked at us as if we were mutants."

"Ow, dad, you're talking too loud!" my son shouted from the back seat. "Can't you keep it down?!"

I suppose if volume controls are out, I shouldn't even ask the doctor about smart mouths.