Buster, from the back seat: I gave you a song, Nana.
Nana, driving: That's nice of you.
Buster, annoyed: Nana! I gave you a song! What did you do with it?
Nana, feeling guilty: I don't know, maybe I threw it on the floor by mistake.
Buster, kindly: We can look for it later. ... ... ... I wonder what it sounds like.
Buster Brown moved in with me when he was 3 months old and moved out when he started first grade. Now I only see him every other weekend -- so LET'S MAKE THE MOST OF THEM!
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