Primo: I'm sick! This isn't fair!
Me: Sorry, sweetie.
Primo (more vocal sadness about having a cold)
Me: Well, I'm going to watch TV now.
Primo: But I'm sick!
Me: I know.
Primo: And I want sympathy! And soup!
Me: There is chicken adobo in the fridge. Black beans and rice. Chocolate cheesecake. Eat that.
Primo: But - I want soup.
Me: There's soup in the freezer. I guess you could thaw that.
Primo: That's too much work.
Me: OK. Well, whatever.
Primo: I want sympathy!
Me: I gave you some.
Primo: No, I want more than that. Don't you need to cater to my every whim and sing "Soft Kitty" to me? And make me soup? And rub my back?
Me: I am not your mother.
Primo (big, sad sigh)
Me: She really did not prepare you for the real world!
Primo: She doted on me.
Me: Yeah. Exactly.
Primo: At least if I am still sick tomorrow I will not have to go to that climate march.
Me: You wouldn't have had to go no matter what.
Primo: I know, but now I don't have to feel guilty about it.