A lot...
Yesterday I was driving my daughter and the son of one of our friends to Sunday school. In the back of the car, he is reeling off the reasons why I shouldn't be taking him there. He's too tired, just so exhausted, and since he'll be disruptive, I should take him home. He's too tired to move. He can't move his arms, he's so tired. And pointing out to him, after minutes of this, that obviously his mouth wasn't very tired, didn't get me very far.
In fact, it got him angry. And he told me he was tired.
"I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very tired. And I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very angry at you for taking me to Sunday school."
"That's a lot of angry." I said. "That's eight angrys."
"No, more." He said. "I have .... Nine Million Gallons of Angry."
I almost lost it. It sounds like a song title. I couldn't resist. I began singing for him a Reznor-esque improv version of "Nine Million Gallons of Angry". It almost wrote itself.
He was not amused. But I was.
In fact, it got him angry. And he told me he was tired.
"I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very tired. And I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very angry at you for taking me to Sunday school."
"That's a lot of angry." I said. "That's eight angrys."
"No, more." He said. "I have .... Nine Million Gallons of Angry."
I almost lost it. It sounds like a song title. I couldn't resist. I began singing for him a Reznor-esque improv version of "Nine Million Gallons of Angry". It almost wrote itself.
He was not amused. But I was.