If I had to sum up my youngest daughter, I think I’d point out that she fought viciously against practicing piano when she was in lessons, but now that she’s not in lessons she’s spending easily five times the amount of time and effort at the piano voluntarily teaching herself songs by ear (yes, really) and making up silly jingles about poop.
That’s my girl.
Like looking in a mirror.
Me: “Give it up.”
Large Institutional TP dispenser: “No.”
Me: “I just want some TP. You’re a TP dispenser. So, dispense already.”
Me: “C’mon, I’ve spun this roll all the way around twelve times, both ways. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to even…”
Me: “Look, I’m just a guy trying to get back to his work week. Let’s get this over with, and move on with our lives. I’m not asking for much. Frankly, I’ve been quite reasonable. Now… Give. Me. The. TP!”
Me: (pause) “OK… please?”
TPD: (long pause) “No.”
Me: “You have one job! ONE JOB!!!”
Danger Monkey, age 9: “Why did the superhero go to the restroom?”
Little Miss Thing, age 6: “He had to poop? Pee? Both!”
DM: “No, don’t ruin my joke. Why did the superhero go to the restroom?”
LMT: “I don’t know. Why?”
DM: “He was doing his duty.”
LMT: “Was he a super pooper?”
DM: “OK, that’s funnier than mine.”
LMT: “I know.”