So, Chago's up. He rolls a 3. He chooses a word to act out.
He stands up and starts fanning himself, panting.
"You're hot!" "Sweating!" "You're panting!" "It's summer!" we all take turns shouting out.
Then he goes down on all fours and pants while making puppy eyes.
"Now you're a frog!" "No, he's a little puppy." "You're thirsty." "You're tired."
Then he proceeds to repeat the standing, fanning, and panting. And then repeats the down on all fours, panting.
Back and forth. Over and over. Up and down. And we're guessing pretty much 20,568 variations of the same things we've already said.
"Okay, baby, you've either got to do something else or we just need to move on," I plead just as Amy's head is about to explode into a bezillion tiny little pieces all over the nicely swept rug.
"Alright," he says dejectedly, "I guess we can move on...since no one can guess what I am."
"So, what were you?" asks Saia, as he mopes back to his place on the floor.
"Oh," he pouts, "I was a hot dog."
Go ahead, read it again. I'll wait.
And now, of course, you see it, don't you?