"Saia," he sing-songs in an unusually sweet voice this morning, as he sits at the table awaiting his breakfast.
"Yes, Chago?" she responds exasperatedly, already expecting, always expecting, as she fast-forwards through the chapters of El Dorado, trying to find a place that doesn't skip.
"That's a fairly new movie," he begins, and she glares.
"So???" she responds.
"No, nothing," he says with forced nonchalance.
She evil-eyes him once more.
"Just that it probably shouldn't be dirty, is all," he says, shrugging his shoulders and pretending to be interested in the book he was reading.
"Don't do that!" she lashes out.
"What?" he says sweetly.
"Don't be so passive-aggressive with me!" she yells. "I'm gonna clean it, ok?"
"But I wasn't," he coaxes. "I really wasn't."
"Yes, you were," she says, hopping off her seat and ejecting the DVD to wipe it down.
"No," he says without looking up from his book, "I was using reverse psychology."