James is bleary-eyed and lethargic. He doesn't want to eat his dinner.

"I don't feel so well," he announces. To prove his point, he covers his mouth and hacks dramatically into his hand.

"No dessert," Daddy says.

James nods, wearily.

I excuse him from the table.

"Get your jammies on," I say.

When I go to check on him, he's standing in his room pulling on a pair of underwear. Over the pair he's already wearing.

"Dude. What're you doing?"

He looks at me, bewildered.

"Oh."

"You're delirious," I say, affectionately.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"How much water did you drink today?"

"I dunno."

Translation: none. I fetch Vitamin Water and settle him down with a movie.

He says he'd like to ask me a question. In the measured tone of a golden-tongued politician he asks,

"Mommy, are you trying to make my sickness harder by not giving me dessert?"

That's my boy! In sickness and in health, James is the consummate opportunist.

And no, he didn't get dessert that night. Oddly enough, he was perfectly well by morning.