But sometimes they really piss me off. Like when I have told the halfling at least 213465468798797 times to brush his teeth. And when I make an appearance to check on the progress of said instructions I find him pilfering through my bathroom cabinets. A broken watch could entertain him for hours.
My Father, God love him, used to scream at us, "You're moving as slow as molasses on a cold Vermont Morning!" I never really stopped to think about just how slow molasses moves on a cold Vermont morning until I had kids. I swore I would never use this diddly of parental frustration, but I find myself using it all. the. time.
But what I can tell you is that I can completely vouch for the fact that the halfling moves much slower than molasses. He is more like frozen molasses. Ice age molasses. Prehistoric amberized molasses.
Typical anal person I am, I like things done NOW. Fast and furious. Piddling pisses me off. The halfling is an expert piddler. He can find something in a room of nothingness to piddle around with and waste time. I like to think that it is his wildly creative imagination at work, or at least that is the mantra I repeat to myself over and over and over again. And over again.