Now, at that moment about a million retorts are flying through your brain; not a single one of them is probably appropriate to respond to an eight-year-old but that doesn't really stop you from thinking them.
"Really dad, I'm pretty sure I put the bread away the right way," he says to me, apparently giving nary a thought to the preposterousness of his statement.
"So, what goblins or gremlins or something came behind you and left all this bread open?" I ask, going for the dramatic coup de grace. I'm thinking this little debate is over; no way little-man comes back from that one.
"Yeah, I guess that's possible," he says to me.
My head exploded.
"Maybe it was the dogs or the cats," he says nonchalantly.
My head exploded again.
"Get outside and clean the dog's yard," I say through clenched teeth.
Seen those recent commercials for the new Shrek movie where the cat's eyes keep getting bigger and bigger? That's what he did, tears exploding down his cheeks.
"But dad, why?" he cries out as if every fiber in his being was personally offended at the command.
"Just go," I reply.
Sulking he heads out back, rake in one hand, trash bag in the other. He's going for the Oscar with this performance, tossing the rake around, dramatically throwing the trash bag open, kicking rocks.
Watching him from my office window, I call up my mom, detail her the situation and am met with a long, hard laugh.
"Oh my word, he's just like you."