The set up: Keaton is in her room playing on the computer. I’m in the laundry room directly next to her.

“Keaton, I have a small laundry basket for you to put away.

Shouting from her room: “Just a second, mom!”

A minute passes. I hear her leave her room and head upstairs, yelling, “Mom!” the entire way before Brad, sitting on the living room couch, tells her I’m not up there.
She stomps back down the stairs, still yelling, “Mom!”
“Keaton!”
She pokes her head in, annoyed: “Uh, I was looking for you.”
“Yep, I was right next your room the whole time. Now, can you put the laundry basket away?”
She walks away, without the laundry basket, then appears in the doorway again and says, “Where?”
Looking down at my feet: “It’s right here, Keaton.”
Huffing: “Well, I thought you said it was next to my room. (Staring at the clothes) And that’s NOT a small basket! You said it was a small basket!”
That, that right there is all the proof I need for the existence of selective hearing.
Good grief.

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