In the warm morning sunlight, little Minea sat on a small chair in the yard, swinging her tiny feet impatiently. Her stomach was rumbling, and her eyes stayed fixed on the house, waiting for Dad to come back with her milk. But he was taking too long!
Minea couldn’t wait any longer. She threw her head back and let out a loud, dramatic cry.
“Eeeeeh! Daaad! Milk! Hurry up!”
She rocked side to side on the chair, her little hands gripping the armrests. Her tail curled tightly as she pouted, her face full of frustration. When no one responded immediately, Minea took a deep breath and screamed even louder. “DAAAAAAD! I’M HUNGRY!”
Mom, who was sweeping the yard nearby, chuckled. “Minea, be patient! Daddy is coming.”
But patience was not in Minea’s vocabulary. She puffed up her cheeks, slapped her tiny hands on the chair, and then threw herself backward in an exaggerated tantrum. Her legs kicked in the air, and she moaned like the world was ending.
Just then, Dad finally appeared from the house, holding a warm milk bottle. “Alright, alright, little boss, stop shouting! Here’s your milk!”
Minea’s eyes lit up instantly. She shot up from her dramatic pose, reaching her hands eagerly. “Eeeeh!” she squeaked excitedly, grabbing the bottle and sucking hungrily.
Within seconds, she was completely calm, drinking happily while her tiny tail flicked in satisfaction.
Mom shook her head with a smile. “Such a little drama queen,” she muttered.
But Minea didn’t care. She had her milk, and that was all that mattered!
