Smile

Michael:

Luna, get out of the car.
Come on.
You’re going to make us late.

I’m serious!
Wipe that frown off your face,
And let’s go.

Do I have to drag you out?
You know I will.

Fine.
Have it your way.

Why do you always have to be so difficult?
Let go of the steering wheel.

God, you’ve got one hell of a grip.
But I happen to know you’re ticklish!

Did you just threaten to scream?
Luna.

If you do, I’ll take you straight home.
But you’re going to be very happy about it.

Let go of the steering wheel.
Thank-you.

Now hurry up and no biting this time.
Poor dentist.

Smile, honey.
And put away the matches.