🎥🍿 “AITA for Interrupting My Parents’ Movie with Strategic Screaming and Sibling Drama?”
By James, Age 3 (Prime-Time Chaos Agent & Emotional Volume Enthusiast)

It was evening. A sacred time.
Mom and Dad had just sat down. Snacks in hand. Movie queued. Blanket tucked. Spirits high. They made it seventeen minutes into dialogue-heavy peace before the crisis hit.

From the hallway came the unmistakable sound of toddler feet—stomping with intention. And then: “MOMMMMMM!!”

Hi. It’s me. James. Three years old. I had entered my dramatic phase.

Tonight’s concern:
Jack was “breathing too near my juice.”
Not in it. Not drinking it. Just near it.

I had no choice but to unleash my full emotional portfolio:

• Volume: Max
• Tears: Decorative
• Pointing: Aggressive
• Vocabulary: “RUDE!” and “VIOLENT JUICE AIR!”

Mom paused the movie. Dad sighed the sigh of a man who forgot how little control he actually has.

Jack appeared, calm-ish. “He’s being weird.”
I countered with a soliloquy about territorial beverages.
Jack said, “You threw the juice down the stairs.”
I shouted, “I SAVED IT FROM INVASION.”

Mom tried redirecting. “Let’s all be calm.”
I shrieked, “Jack doesn’t believe in juice safety!”
Dad muttered, “This movie has emotional range, I’ll give it that.”

Eventually, Jack was sent back to his room. I was given a second juice and a soft talking-to.
Mom restarted the movie. Dad pressed play.
Peace lasted eleven minutes.
Then I returned to whisper, “I pooped but I’m still deciding if I want to wipe.”

So… AITA?

For:

• Interrupting grown-up cinema to defend beverage sovereignty?
• Igniting sibling unrest over fluid proximity?
• Launching a snack-based political debate mid-romantic subplot?
• Using poop as a power move?

Or am I simply a passionate guardian of my personal boundaries and bodily whims?

You decide.
Just not while watching a movie.
Because I will find you.
And I will yell.