I was standing in the kitchen eating some pita bread a minute ago when Roman walked in. He came over with an impish gleam in his eye and slapped my pita out of my hands!
He laughed and said, "That's funny!" -- and so was consequently surprised when I didn't laugh or smile and told him instead that it wasn't funny, it was mean, and pick that up.
He got down, his impish giggle transforming into something a bit more serious. By the time he stood back up to hand me the pita, his giggle had shifted completely to a little quiver in his chin, a pouty lower lip and a sad-eyed look.
"I just wanted you to call me a stinker, cause I'm funny," he says, trying hard to choke back the tears.
Ohhh.
"Do you like it when I call you a stinker?"
"Do you like it when I call you a stinker?"
"Yeah, cause then I'm funny."
"Ok, well sometimes things are stinker things and sometimes they are mean. That was a mean thing. Are you gonna just do stinker things or stinker things and mean things?"
"Ok, well sometimes things are stinker things and sometimes they are mean. That was a mean thing. Are you gonna just do stinker things or stinker things and mean things?"
"I'm just gonna do stinker things."
And then, of his own accord, he climbed upon the counter and got a cup down, filled it half full of ice water and gave to me to make amends, "cause that's nice, huh."