My son is dancing around the family room with a football in his hand, some sort of wild, extended touchdown celebration for no reason at all that I can see.
“Shouldn’t you be using this time to study for your social studies test?” I suggest helpfully.
“CouldaWouldaShoulda,” he says back to me, with an Elvis-like, shoot-from-the-hip finger-pointing gesture. “CouldaWouldaShoulda, CouldaWouldaShoulda,” he chants, hopping from one foot to the other, leaping, crouching, pushing him arms around in all directions.
He drops to the floor and starts doing the worm. Now he comes out of that into a series of break dancing moves. The chant continues.
He’d better ace that social studies test is all I can say, or I’m going to kick his ass.