Took Daughter to see a play at a local high school. Before it began, they announced there would be pasta dinner in the cafeteria after the play.
DAUGHTER: Can we stay for dinner?
ME: No. You and I are going home to make dinner for Daddy.
DAUGHTER: Oh pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease! I wanna stay.
ME: You don't even like pasta.
DAUGHER: But this is "cafeteria pasta!" I'll like it better than your pasta! Yours is yucky!
(Insulting my cooking is no way to win me over to get your way.)
Side note: Pugsly was there. I was afraid this would happen. He didn't attempt to talk to me. Maybe he didn't see me. Although, I don't know how he couldn't have seen me. We were sitting in the same row and I walked within inches of him two or three times. He's probably too wrapped up in checking on who's kissing his ass--of the people who still work for him--to notice lowly former employees whose lives he made miserable for two+ years. And I have to say, I was a little let down by the whole thing. I really wanted him to try to talk to me. So I could punch him in the face. That's how I've had it planned in my head for about two years now.