What Can't I Stand?

This morning's email from the college boy.  Subject:  The Infamous Tooth.  "I was eating pasta and I bit a little into the plastic fork; it's not too bad but I wanted to ask if you could make an appointment to get it fixed when I get back. Love you, can't believe it happened again." The Infamous Front Tooth won its moniker long ago, when he ka-knocked it on the bathroom counter and it broke. How his front tooth made contact with the counter, I can't remember, but something tells me he was goofing around, and maybe his older brother was involved, and look what happened.  It's just one more example of my dad's theory on why children are nothing but trouble. Throughout my childhood, my dad would roam the house, issuing the following battle-cry: "What can't I stand?"  And the three of us would answer:  "Happy children!"  The theory was so smart and simple, so logical, I'm surprised one of those Spocks, Dr. or Mr., didn't think of it first.  Happy children get charged up.  Happy children get carried away.  Happy children wind up doing dumb things and getting hurt.  Case in point:  my youngest son.  Happiness led to goofiness which led to a broken front tooth and numerous sequels.  Halloween-inspired happiness led to biting down hard on an Abba Zabba which led to a re-broken front tooth and a running tab at the dentist.  Amnesia-inspired happiness led to biting down hard on an Abba Zabba (again?!) which led to a you-know-what and another dentist appointment.  And now, Santa Cruz-inspired happiness led to pasta, orally delivered via a recyclable plastic fork, which led to... oh, never mind.  What can't I stand?  Happy children.