26 February 1995
Last night I had to do my reading for class instead of pay attention to Teresa. She was very difficult, in a funny way. I offered to read to her and she took me up on it, and then I decided to read to myself because it’s faster. I offered to let her put her hand down my pants while I read.
“No! You think I need a pacifier!”
“Oh, sweetheart, what would make you happy?”
“Nothing but your full and undivided attention.”
“Well, you can’t have that.” So I read and she flopped down on the bed and sighed and made little noises of discontent.
“What’s the matter, darling?”
“I’m being difficult!”
“I know you are.” After a long time she was nearly asleep and I thought I’d done enough homework for one week. I leaned down. “Give me a kiss.” She stuck her lips out. I kissed them. “Give me another.” She stuck her lips out again. “You’re a sleepy head. You had a big day.” (We had gone out to breakfast and to the movies.)
“It’s not easy being difficult,” she said.