Stuffed

(at dinner table)

Wonderful Wife: “You need to use your fork on the spaghetti, not your fingers. We don’t eat with our hands.”

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Nope.”

WW: “That wasn’t a question. A better response would be, ‘Yes, Mama’.”

LMT: “No. I don’t feel like it.”

WW: (glaring)

Me: “That was strike two. If you don’t respond appropriately to your mother, there will be serious consequences.”

LMT: “Like what?”

Me: “Like… losing all your electronics for a day.”

LMT: “I don’t care.”

Me: “OK, wiseguy. How about losing electronics for a week?”

LMT: “I don’t care.”

(pause)

Me: “Hmmm. Then I guess I’ll have to take away that new stuffed animal you bought last…”

LMT: “Sorry, Mama. I won’t do it again.”

 

Must Be On His Mother’s Side

Me: “Oh my word! How big of a bite did you take? You can’t even close your mouth.”

Danger Monkey, age 10: (incomprehensible noises)

Wonderful Wife: “That’s unacceptable.”

DM: (spits out much food)

Me: “Dude, that’s way too much. That’s like four bites.”

WW: “That’s eight bites. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Me: “Dude. Gross.”

DM: “What can I say? I have chipmunk ancestry.”

Me: …

Me: “I’m not a genealogist, but as your parents, you’d think we would have already known that.”