Not where it counts

WT, this morning, wanted some of the vegetarian sausage (spicy soy--yum yum!) from my plate. This invariably means that he wants to sit in my lap. I was, however, reluctant to let him do so, since, because of his horrific manner of slinging food in the general direction of his mouth rather than eating like a civilized being, his pajamas were covered with a slimy mixture of grits and strawberry yogurt.

Me: Wild Thing, you may have some sausage. But I want you to sit at your little table, because you're covered with food.

WT (Patting his rump): My bottom is not!

He had a point. But I still made him sit at the little table.