The Interruption

So I've finished making dinner and, sighing heavily, am attacking a heap of dirty dishes. I dislike washing pots and pans. There are pots and pans.
Sam cruises in on his red car--one hand on the wheel, the other brandishing his sippy cup. I wonder mildly about the location of his pants. I return to scrubbing.
Sam interrupts again, this time jabbering. He pauses to strike a pose and swig noisily on his apple juice. Then he points at me and and says, "nanananana."
Silly boy.
We hang out for awhile.
Thank you, Sam.