My son’s supposed to be finishing up his first 8th grade assignment — a math collage for his Algebra class — but instead he’s bouncing a basketball around the house.
“Finsh the assignment!” my wife says. “No more procrastinating!”
“I’m not PRO-CRAS-TI-NA-TING!” the boy yells, punctuating each syllable by slamming the ball on the floor.
“You are procrastinating,” I say.
“Stay out of it,” my wife says.
“You see how long it took him just to say ‘procrastinating’? That’s procrastinating.”