Sonny B Does Not Play Mousey
ME: Look, Sonny! It’s a mouse! Go get the mouse! SONNY: That is not a mouse. ME: Get the mousey, Sonny! Go get it. SONNY: I told you, lady. THAT is NOT a mouse. ME: Look at the mousey, Sonny! He’s getting away! You better go catch him! SONNY: Look. It’s clearly not a mouse. It’s made out of cloth and it has a long string coming out of it’s back. Real mice are kind of furry and not attached to strings. ME: Chase the mousey, Sonny! SONNY: I will not. ME: Chase it, Sonny! Go get him! SONNY: Oh for the- Fine. Clearly they scraped the bottom of the barrel for this foster home. Give me the stupid mousey, lady. Happy? Watch me chase the mousey, lady. Fun? Yes? Bleh. That tastes disgusting. Here. Your turn. That’s basically how the conversation went when I finally convinced Sonny to play with me. I’d been begging him to play for over a week. He finally relented. For about ten minutes. In an obvious attempt to appease me. He has not played mousey since.