Role Reversal

Yesterday after work I was in the kitchen with a hugely smiling and twitterpated Ally (she usually becomes that way when I walk in the door....), and as she twirled around she came to the fridge, where she stopped long enough to push the water dispenser, causing a little bit of water to run down the fridge/hit the floor.
It wasn’t a real big deal, so I just said in a rather gentle tone, ‘Ally, don’t do that.’

Her smiling visage instantly transmogrified into a eclectic mix of a self-condemning scowl, a tearful look, and a Mt. Vesuvius glower. (If she would have had a travel-size cat-o-nine-tails handy, she probably would’ve engaged in some self-flagellation!)

“I go to time out!’ she sobbingly declared.

‘Ally,’ I kindly imparted, ‘You’re not in trouble. You don’t have to go to time out.’

“YES I DO!” she retorted, and half-sobbing and half-glaring all the while, she ran into the den to her standard time-out corner.

....after slamming the den door shut a couple times....

As Cindy commented, Ally was acting like she was PMS-ing.