The boy looks angry: teeth clenched, brow furrowed. He is muttering something about a broken car that won’t start. I assume it has something to do with a toy; later, my wife informs me that he was re-imagining today’s episode of Sesame Street, wherein Oscar the Grouch couldn’t get his jalopy to start.
“You really look upset,” I tell him.
“No, I’m pissed,” he says.
Somehow, I doubt he learned that word from Oscar.