Princess: I am going to sing you a song I have made up.
Me: Mmm, great, let me just get started on dinner for the boys.
Princess [slightly more loudly]: I am going to sing you a song I have made up.
Me: I’m listening…yes, Michael, what is it?
Her [crossly]: I bet Mr. Tchaikovsky’s parents weren’t like this.
Superb – as usual. I trust this was said in a suitably imperious tone?