Oh my grubby little angel.

There once was a little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead…
When she was good she was very good, but when she was bad she was horrid..
I distinctly remember someone saying that poem to me when I was just a tot.  I glared as hard as I could and brushed the curl back with each repetition of the rhyme. ๐Ÿ™‚  But!  I was NOT often very bad.  At least not like some members of this household.
I crack uh eggs, Mama.
Lots of them.  Every day.  We need a strait jacket, or a chicken-operable-only door, or I don’t know what.
I sah-wy…

I know.  So am I.  But that doesn’t seem to stop you.  I wonder if this is how God feels about me.  Me:  Always sorry, never stopping.
‘Give me?

Yes.  *sigh*  I forgive you.  Please stop cracking the eggs.
Okay, Mama.  I will stop [for today].
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