“This land is my land, this land is your land,” circling the dining room table with my eye on Tia’s cell phone. “From California … hm, hm, hm, hm, hm.”
“Stop singing that song,” Tia says as she moves with me holding her camera aimed at me. Singing the song and rounding the table, knowing that she has no clue, and getting closer with every step. Priceless.
I timed my song to end when I reached her. “This land is your land. This land is my land. Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm …,” As soon as I stop humming I reach out my right hand to grab her phone, but she catches on, pulls the device close to her body, and turns her upper body to the left to protect it.
“Don’t take my phone!” she starts to run, but I’m slightly faster than she is and grab her around her shoulders with my outstretched arm. When I reached out my left hand to grab her phone she grunted and threw it across the room. It landed six feet away from us. “I can’t believe you tossed your phone like that,” I say with a belly laugh.
“I did, and you can’t have it.”
We laughed so hard we couldn’t breathe. Then Tia shook off my grip, picked up the phone and took it into her bedroom and hid from me to make musical.lys the rest of the afternoon. I’m sure that I’ll see that video when I’m scrolling Social Sucka-Media.