Leta, screaming from the backseat: “WE’RE GOING TO GRANDMOMMY’S HOUSE, RIGHT?”
Jon remains silent, not because he means to, it’s just the screaming doesn’t sound so much like screaming anymore as it does background noise. I think this is called Coping.
Leta, again screaming, “DADDY! WE’RE GOING TO GRANDMOMMY’S HOUSE! RIGHT? RIGHT?”
Jon continues driving without saying a word. He wonders to himself whether or not a particular browser problem could be solved using a small line of CSS, and then a second later about what he’ll cook for dinner, probably chicken, definitely something using the new garlic press. You don’t buy a new toy like that and then cook a can of beans when you’re hungry, am I right? Am I right? Did he ever tell you about that one time we bought a new stove? How it got delivered to our house, and it wasn’t even in the kitchen for more than 20 seconds before he thought it would be a good idea to test its self-cleaning mechanism. Even though it wasn’t dirty. Because that function was listed in the brochure as something it could do, and THERE WERE BUTTONS. THAT NEEDED TO BE PUSHED. HOW CAN YOU EXPECT HIM TO RESIST SUCH TEMPTATION?
Leta is sideways in her seat now, inconsolable, and the question is all muddled with tears and snot, so it sounds like VERRRR SNOOOOING TOOOOOS GROOOOOSSSSMEEEEEES HOOOOOSSSSSSS???
Suddenly jolted into consciousness and annoyed that his daughter is still asking this question despite three days of assuring her that we’re gonna go to Grandmommy’s house, promise, he yells, “OH MY GOD! YES! WE ARE GOING TO GRANDMOMMY’S HOUSE RIGHT NOW!”
Leta sits up, straightens the straps on her car seat and mumbles, “Well, you don’t have to be so loud about it, Dad.”