He decided that the taste of his bacon would be greatly improved by dunking it in my coffee.
I am covered with banana flavoured amoxicillin and he is still indignantly yelling at me for having the audacity to make him take it.
He has decided that dinner exists solely as an obstacle in the road to dessert.
Loud shouts of “No kitty, that’s my cheese!” drew me to the livingroom.
It’s hard to take a three year old with no pants on seriously, no matter how mad he thinks he is.