My dog, actually.
See, Ramona tries to pretend like she doesn't understand what we're saying to her. Oh, ruff ruff, I'm just a doggie, I don't know what you're saying.
I'm not so sure about that, though.
See, lately she's been getting into plastic bags and exploring their contents. We've had a lot of them around lately, as we've been opening a lot of gifts with a lot of tissue paper in them. We were putting the paper into plastic bags until we discovered Ramona's love of all things rippable.
Well. The other day I was upstairs on the computer and Eric was downstairs doing laundry (see why I married him?). From the main level, I hear the tell-tale rustle of a plastic bag.
"Ramona!" I yell from upstairs. No response.
I head downstairs to see the plastic bag had been carried to the other side of the room, but still held all of its contents. However, sneaky Ramona was nowhere to be found. I have just one guess as to where she could be. So, I go down to the basement.
Lo and behold. As soon as she heard me, she ran down to hide behind Eric, hoping daddy would protect her. She was LITERALLY standing BEHIND Eric, peeking around his legs at me.
This little rascal knew EXACTLY what she had done, she knew that she wasn't allowed to do it, and she knew I was the one that would get mad at her for it, not Eric.
I told her daddy wasn't going to protect her. He jumps out of the way and attempts his own version of a reprimand (keep working on that, honey). I told her she wasn't allowed to touch the plastic bags and then expect daddy to take care of it.
She followed me back upstairs to apologize. I showed her where the bag was supposed to stay, and it didn't move from that spot the rest of the night.
And she claims she doesn't understand me.
PS. I'm rethinking this whole, wanting a daughter, thing. I'm sure she'll figure out WAY faster than Ramona did that daddy is much nicer than mommy and will cave. Oh dear.