At approximately 6pm, every evening, if you happened to be in the vicinity of our home, you may be privy to the following battle conversation:

Me: Thomas! Can you pleased wash your hands and get dressed for dinner*

*we are not a family from the Victorian era that requires its members to put on their finest clothes before coming to the table. We simply ask that you wear clothes. Or at best, underpants.

Thomas: (insert whiny voice here) Why do I have to put my clothes on? Can I just eat like this (pointing to a 100% naked body)?

Me: no. You HAVE to wear clothes to eat dinner. I feel like this is a conversation that we can’t keep having. You just have to, ok?

Thomas: but whyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Me: clothes. Stat.

Stomping away and then returning with a telltale giggle heard all the way down the hall…..

Thomas: I did it mum. I put underpants on.