She's not angry. She's just trying angry on to see if it fits.

Alice walks in the room. She's wearing and old dress-up tutu.

Alice: I bal-reena.

Me: You sure are. And the prettiest ballerina I've ever seen.

Her brow furrows. 

Alice: I bal-reena, Dad.

Me: Yes. A ballerina. That's you.

She purses her lips.


Me: (a teensy bit terrified) You bal-reena.

She folds her arms.

Alice: (speaking slowly and deliberately) NO, DAD. I. BAL. REENA.

She stomps out of the room before I can reply.

Alice: No talk to me, Dad. I bal-reena.

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