Well, maybe if you’re really good at it, I’ll consider your requests. No, not YOU and NOT that! I’m referring to my kids. Each of my kids attempts to wheedle things in a different manner. Miss Drama, of course, turns on water works, collapses to the floor in a heap and commences wailing as if she just found out her long lost best friend died on the way to their reunion. Sound like a soap opera plot? I don’t watch them, but it sounded melodramatic enough. Instead of Miss Drama, she should be Miss Melodrama. I blame it on the anime the kids watch. The characters tend to always respond in shocked, loud, or extreme manners. Of all the kids, Miss Drama’s methods are least effective, at least in my house.
Miss Diva breaks out the sad face and combines it with “PLEEEEEEEEEase!” Depending on what she’s asking for, I can find this one hard to resist. Figures. I’ve employed it myself. A careful balance of sad and pitiful with the big hopeful eyes… it’s like saying no to Zeke; painful. Miss Diva’s acting skills have far more finesse than her sister. I’m going to have to build up some more immunity before she hits her teen years.
Mr. Smarty-pants, as I’ve been long aware, is the most devious of them all. He’ll do an extra good job with a chore, offer to assist with something, and then comes the icing on the cake; compliments. Unless it’s a frank observation, “You look nice” or “Mmm, I liked dinner,” I don’t trust random over the top compliments. Now granted, sometimes he does say or do stuff just for the heck of it…I think.
One odd example happened the other day. I made fixings for tacos the other night. Sadly, as dairy hates me, I can’t have cheese or sour cream. I’ve found that guacamole adds a nice creamy taste that rounds out the other toppings quite nicely. My poor little avocado was bad. I was sad, as I really wanted guacamole, but I was resigned to doing without. Mr. Smarty-Pants, who is assisting with dinner prep, turns to Soup King who just came home, “Go, go get her an avocado. Make the woman happy.”
It’s never worked that way in my world. Sure, I really wanted it, but I didn’t want to ask. Poor Soup King had just walked in. He was tired. Dinner was all but done anyway.
Then Mr. Smarty-pants decides a bit of humorous hyperbole is in order, as Soup King is not rushing off to do his bidding. I do believe Mr. Smarty-pants was attempting to score points with me so I’d “assist”…aka DO his project for him.
“Go, go forth on your trusty steve and fetch her an avocado!”
Zeke, our lab mix, ran up to volunteer for the role of trusty steve, because maybe he could get noms. Yes, Mr. Smarty-pants meant steed, but it ended up being so much funnier that way.
My dear Sir Soup King did indeed get me an avocado, but Mr. Smarty-pants had to write his own report.
Ah, but Mr. Smarty-pants is diligent. He does an extra good job of cleaning up the bathroom, which makes me wonder how he thinks the half-assed job will ever count now, but he hasn’t figured out that one has backfired….yet. Then, as the chili is simmering on the stove, he asks me to proof his story.
“You’re such an awesome writer! I know you can make it so that it’s like the people are there!”
Mmhm, because he’s read SOOOOO much of my stuff…NOT. Seeing as how ninety-five percent of my writing is rated a minimum of Teen, I don’t let them read my stuff. I did assist by showing him this awesome thing called spell check, and how to format quotations and punctuation. He had a good little story. When I changed it to double spacing as the rubric called for, it was three pages long, which was one page over the limit. Poor Mr. Smarty-pants let out a wail, “Noooooooo!” It reminded me of Superman when Lois Lane dies. Well, maybe not that emotional. Seeing as how I’ve had lots of editing practice, I culled extraneous bit. This process involved a great deal of moaning and drama on his part, demonstrating that the anime melodrama has rubbed off on him as well. When we finally got it to exactly two pages, he hollered, “YES!” loud enough to make me deaf. I believe there was a fair amount of jumping up and down too.
One would think I’d handed him a Nobel Prize.
Of course, he handed me his paper with his references. “Here.”
I handed it right back.”You’re perfectly capable of typing that.”
He sighed, mumbled, but did it himself. All that flattery spent on me, and all I did was delete stuff.