Grant wanted a corn-dog for lunch. Doesn’t sound too good to me, but OK.
Nuked the corn-dog, poured the milk, squirted the ketchup, got the napkin, called the child, busied myself in the kitchen.
After a few moments I heard clapping. It was Grant, applauding himself for eating all of the “corn” but leaving the “dog” intact.
“Ew, Grant! That’s gross, Honey… don’t do that.”
“What…? The clapping?”