Sometimes, when you have to go somewhere, your mom tells you to put on your socks and shoes.
But you don’t want to put on your socks and shoes, so you pretend you didn’t hear her, and then she tells you again to put on your socks and shoes, but you don’t want to put on your socks and shoes, so you pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about, and then she points to your socks and shoes as she’s walking around getting everything else together and she tells you to please put on your socks and shoes, but you don’t want to put on your socks and shoes, so you make up some excuse about how your shoes are too tight, and then she says, “Well, then put on the shoes that aren’t too tight,” and then she says, “But start by putting your socks on,” but you still don’t want to put your socks and shoes on so you say, “I don’t want to wear socks,” in your best whiney voice and she says, “Fine, you don’t have to wear them,” and then you walk around some more holding your shoes and not putting them on and then Mom says, “Do you need some help with that?” and puts them on your feet for you and then she says, “Okay, are we ready to go now?” and she finishes packing things up and says, “Let’s go!” and then you realize that you actually do want very badly to wear your socks, but Mom says, “Sorry, too late,” and walks out the door and you collapse on the floor, completely distraught by this unanticipated turn of events and Mom says, “You made a choice,” and keeps walking and you, rather than be left behind, scream your head off as you walk through the lobby of your building and down the block and across the street and down the next block and around the corner and down several more blocks before you realize that not only is your mother not responding to your screams for socks, she actually seems to be enjoying . . . . something.
And then you stop screaming and start enjoying something, too.
And deep down inside, so deep you can barely see it, Mom is immensely satisfied.