Pop Goes The Weasel

Tonight as I was washing dishes I suddenly noticed that Jamie was not at my feet badgering me to "help" with the dishes. Things were a little too quiet. . . . .

"Jamie, where are you?"

"You talkin' do meee?", she screeched popping up from under the kitchen table with this face:



"Yes, I'm talking to you. What are you doing down there?"

"Pooping".

"Of course you are. What else are you doing down there?"

"Nuding."

"Your face says otherwise. I hope."