About an hour later, it was getting-ready-for-bed time, and Middle Daughter was helping him wash off the seventy bazillion marker marks he had gotten on his face. He was being very ungracious about it. My bicker tolerance being especially low at the moment, I popped into the bathroom to remind him of our earlier talk.
His face fell (be glad you weren't here to see it, annie). Are you trying to say you're not grateful for me any more? he asked in a small wavering voice.
No, I told him. I love you very much, but I'm telling you that I'm disappointed in how you're behaving.
Aw, man! he exclaimed, throwing down his toothbrush and slumping against the wall. I can't believe I'm getting fired!