(Or, “The more things change, the more they stay the same”.)
Monkey: Nice Mama. *said while gingerly patting me all over, as if I were made of the most delicate porcelain, or perhaps hair-trigger explosives*
Chickadee: Want me to sing you a song I learned? It’s about my BUTT!
Monkey: Mama, you need to be resting. I get you a blankie.
Chickadee: I am not being fresh. I’m being mouthy.
Both *upon viewing my incision, which they had clamored to see*: Eeeeeewwwwwww! GROSS!!