Well the afternoon has drifted away. It is nearly four o'clock, and Miles has managed to get himself clobbered cough (by me) several times.

Don't ask me questions.

Don't ask me why his jaw would be on level with my elbow.

Don't ask me how a person taking a solitary step backward could "nearly break [his] neck."

Just...don't ask me. I don't think I even want to know.

I do know that he has me feeling like a ham-fisted oaf. ME!—ME!—a study of grace and femininity! For Pete's sake!—I oughta deck him!

(What?? Nooo, I didn't say that!)

I am getting a little irritated with the whining though:

"I think my face is going to bruise."
"Wow, my headache is really bad."
"Hon, seriously, you almost broke my neck."
"Oh it hurts."

—Do we need to take you to a doctor?

"Noooooooo! I'm fine!"

—Good. Then you can still take out the garbage after all.

Clever how that works out, eh?