I heated the soup in a pan whilst Peter sat sulking at the table, shuffling this way and that.
“Stop shuffling!” I spat after a couple of minutes.
He reached his hand behind his back and complained that the knot was digging into his back.
“Well sit up straight then,” I replied. “You don’t have to lean back.”
Peter sat himself up. I asked him if that was better and he nodded. I asked him if he wanted bread or toast with his soup, but he wasn’t bothered either way. He was clearly too busy being moody. I put the bowl and side plate in front of him, then tied a tea towel around his neck to catch any splashes. Of course, he complained about having to wear a bib.
