I came out of the bathroom to discover Twelve and R having a dirty sock fight in the bedroom. I have retreated to the living room, pretending to be annoyed but actually enjoying it.
I'm not sure how it started, but it's a pretty simple game: Twelve is lying on the bed, throwing her dirty socks at R, standing at the foot of the bed, who bats or throws them back toward her. She's giggling hysterically. R doesn't really giggle, but his chuckle comes pretty close sometimes.
R finally calls it quits and heads to the kitchen in pursuit of coffee. Twelve drifts into her bedroom. All is quiet for about two minutes until R announces that she's cutting her toenails on the bed.
When Twelve comes back to sit on my lap a few minutes later, she assures me that she's washed her hands after the dirty sock throwing and toenail clipping. I am skeptical.
After farting in my lap twice, reaching toward my face one too many times, and a dozen other intentionally obnoxious and impossible to describe behaviors, Twelve is eventually banished from my lap to work on her tasks.
After doing a bit more work, R is going to go to the store for vegetables and I am going to make a curry. Twelve will, protesting, wash the dishes.
It's a good Friday night.