Sunday evening we were all sitting around the dinner table. Plus One has been picky with his food lately, so we were trying to encourage him to eat his barbecued pork. Because that shit is tasty. The scenario went something like this:
Him: Hey, Plus One! Why don't you try some of this meat?
Plus One: [Suddenly transforming from happy, oblivious child, to seasoned night-crew shift manager at the assembly line: grimmaced face, sits taller in his seat.] NO! I DON'T EAT IT!
Me: [smirk, snicker] Hey, Plus One? What about Momma's yummy potato salad?
Plus One: I DON'T LIKE IT! [Throws fork on the floor for dramatic effect].
Him: Uh-oh. We don't throw our forks, Plus One.
Plus One: NO THROW FORK DADDY! [FOLDS HIS ARMS and STICKS OUT HIS BOTTOM LIP. For real.]
Me: [SNICKERSNICKER...eyeball Him, who gives me a smirk...I look to T9 for help. He pukes on himself.]
Him: So do you think you want your fork back or do you need to sit in time out?
Plus One: I DON'T SIT IN TIME OUT! [Folds arms more tightly, scowls.]
Him & Me: [SNORT.]
Like, he's TWO. As long as he's not shrieking at me, I'm going to have a hard time not laughing. I'm a bit concerned for everyone's well being when he's, say, a teenager and I start having to deal with some real problems. Until then, I'll just have to picture kittens dying or something. Not mine of course. That wouldn't help much.
PS: Speaking of the cats, Pink says hi. He was all geeked out from affection yesterday.