"Today, I'm very angry," my little boy tells me last night in bed. He was probably upset that he had soiled his diaper, and that I had told him off about it.
"Who are you angry with?" I asked.
"I'm angry with Kakak," he answers spitefully, redirecting his anger to our maid, Anie. "Well, you can't be angry with Kakak," I advised, "not if you want her to wash your bum-bum."
As Anie was dealing with him, she enquired about his temperament, "Jesse is angry with Kakak?"
"Nooooo," he answers in the sweetest little voice. "Jesse is angry with Mommy," explained the little politician, in the most matter-of-fact tone that a four-year-old can muster. However, all that time the boy didn't know that Mommy was within earshot.
"What!?!?" Mae's blood-curdling voiced boom from inside our bedroom. "Why are you angry with Mommy?"
With that Mommy's faithful little subject scurried into the room before the Queen. He stood there looking most apologetic, as he wracked his brain for a good save. And then it came, "because Mommy always makes the floor wet."
Mae is always making a mess of our bathroom, and I once unwittingly told the boy so. The little rascal had stored this, and probably other tasty bits of information to be used to negotiate his release in sticky situations. And while the boy gets Her Majesty's royal pardon, Daddy gets a boot to the head for releasing sensitive information to the child. Hehheh.