(James’ POV, age: three, drama level: Code Red)

Look. I’m not trying to start beef with Mom. I’m not even trying to be rude. I’m just… setting boundaries. You know, toddler-style—with flair.

We were having a good day. I was stacking trucks, yelling at clouds, living my best life. Then Mom tried to kiss me—on the face, no warning. I said, “No thank you,” like a gentleman. She ignored that and leaned in. So I did what any self-respecting small person would do.

I walked away. 💋 But not in silence.

I blew kisses. To the cat.
To the plants.
To the ceiling.
To whatever ancestral spirits might be watching.
I even threw one to my reflection in the window because self-love is important.

But none for Mom. She looked crushed. I peeked back over my shoulder like a tragic romantic lead in a Hallmark movie and whispered with my eyes: “It’s not you. It’s the unsolicited lip contact.”

Now Mom’s acting like I’ve committed emotional treason. She gave me snack puffs, but I could feel the betrayal in the banana mush.

So, AITA for refusing Mom’s kiss but then distributing kisses like Oprah to everything else in the room?
(“YOU get a kiss. And YOU get a kiss. But not you, Mom.”)