In your husband’s home office, he works while you massage his shoulders.

The soft click of the door travels to his office, with the door ajar you and your husband see your twin daughters sneaking up the stairs with arms laden with countless shopping bags.

Your husband calls out to them, “Girls? I thought I said the limit was $100,000. You know, when I die I want to make sure you’re responsible enough to inherit my wealth!” He scolds.

He continues rambling “I mean, where did you girls even get this habit from?”

Without saying anything, they both turn their heads in sync to look at you, giving you knowing smirks.