Though my husband and I were twenty feet apart with a volleyball net between us, our son addressed us both.
“Why did you have to marry?” he asked.
I mimed to my husband, “what’d he say?”
Our son postured his frustration with both arms. “Why’d you have to marry?”
We let the volleyball hit the ground.
In full tattle-tale mode our son aimed a miffed finger across the sand at his sister’s back and said, “’cause…’cause she’s a bad sissy.”
Um…all right then.