“But I'm hungry!” he screams.
“There are grapes on the table if you're hungry.” He continues to stare at me, hands on hips, forehead thrust outward ready to charge. I keep my countenance bland, hoping that this will deflect the head butt.
Bull? [translation = full body charge] or goat ?[translation = head only.] My ribs may be bruised but there is no other indication of capitulation on my par. I am resolute and immovable. His nostrils literally flare, a skill I wouldn't mind acquiring myself. His shoulders shrug attached to rigid arms and clenched fists, “o.k. then, if that's gonna be how it's gonna be!” He stomps off past me, in nearly a huff, I think? Yes, I think it’s definitely a huff.
I think I like huffs. I think I consider a huff to be progress.