"I'm vewwy angwee!"

For nearly the entire twenty-five minute ride home from church tonight, Small Fry expounded upon the things that  had made her "angwee," "upset," and "disappointed":

• "Daddy, you'wre going the wohng way home.  I'm vewwy angwee an' disappointed in you!"  When Hubby asked if she would forgive him, her rather snooty reply was, "Yes, but I'm steeywll mad."
• "I don't like going dis way.  Dis is nawt how to go to our house.  I'm vewwy angwee."
• "I'm vewwy angwee at dem."  When I asked about the identities of the poor "dem," Small Fry opined, "Da people at chuwrch who wouldn't give me hugs.  Dey wouldn't let me hug dem."
• She was also "vewwy angwee" at PeeJay, because she didn't get to see him and therefore didn't give him a hug.  (Never mind that she just likes to watch him as if he's an aquarium...she hasn't hugged him yet, despite all the "Pweeze take me to see [him]" requests we get.  Or that neither Hubby nor I even saw PeeJay tonight.)
• "Mommy, I'm vewwy angwee at you."  "Why?"  "Because I am."  It took another three minutes of very distorted conversation to determine that she was "angwee" because I'd tricked her into coming over so I could give her a hug.  "Will you forgive me?"  Small crossed her little arms and gave me a long-suffering look that you usually only see perfected in teenagers. (Yes, she's perfected it already.  We're in big trouble.) "Yes, but I'm steeywll mad."
• She was "vewwy angwee" at the ladies running the Wednesday night kids' program, because they threw away her ice cweem before she was done, and that made her mad.  And sad.
• She was also "vewwy angwee" at PeeJay's son D, "becawse he made me touch da yemon. I didn't want to!"  Interesting that she should say that, because she was the one willingly touching the yemon and also the one who told him to be sure to keep it and not get rid of it.
• "Mommy, don't smile at me!  I don't like dat!"  Which, of course, makes it really hard to not smile.  "I'm not smiling at you," I said, deliberately looking out the window so I'm smiling out at the darkened highway.  "Yes, you awre!"  This made a chuckle, despite my valiant attempts otherwise, to escape. "Don't laff at me, Mommy!!"  At this point, I can't even look at Hubby, because he has a hand over his mouth to stop both his ear-to-ear grin and his laughter.  "I'm not," I say around a bubble of laughter trying to get out.  I clapped my hand over my mouth...and totally failed to keep the laughter inside.  It burst out.  With gusto.  "Don't laff, Mommy!"

When Hubby and I could finally look at each other without cracking up, he whispered, "Are you remembering all this?"

"I hope so."

"Going to make the blog?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Can you remember it all?"

"Even if I only get half of it, it's still hilarious."