Whenever Stinker whines for not getting his way, he finishes my sentence for me.
Me: "I am sorry you can't have your way, little man. I want a maid, a cook and a--"
Yesterday, while waiting for our order at the drivethrough window, Stink asked for his favorite greasy pleasure. I told him no. A moment later he looked through the McDonald's window pensively, then shouted, "If they don't have fries, maybe they have a cook and a nanny in there!"