The funniest thing I've heard lately came from a two and a half year old with a mess of curls:
"Hey, you're pretty ornery."
Followed by:
"You're freaking me out, kid."
Both were said to Axel, who sat in his highchair ignorning his breakfast and shaking his head madly from side to side as his older friend ran circles around the restaurant and banged into walls, ignoring his father's requests to finish his orange juice. The above statements, I venture to guess, are ones that have been directed at the speaker himself a few times in the past.
Ornery is a very appropriate description for Axel the past few days. He doesn't want to eat, or even be put in a highchair. Highchairs, cheese, and apples make him so upset that I wonder if he's been having nightmares of a walking cheese stick tying him down to a chair and stuffing fruit up his nose. The Valentine's Day party at school resulted in hysterics, perhaps because his heart was broken by the almost potty-trained brunette who prefers Elmo to him, or he's figured out it's sort of a crap holiday and soon enough he's going to be wasting his money on overpriced red roses or heart-shaped trinkets that look neat-o on the 13th but are sent to Goodwill by the 16th.
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