When I take you to Target because we are out of toilet paper and heavy cream, and you run, literally run, around and scream... literally scream at the top of your voice? And I tell you to stop doing that?
Right then. That's when I want you to listen.
When you are beatboxing for the sake of annoying the living shit out of every blood relation you have? And whapping your foot against the couch, all percussive and whatnot? And I ask you to please stop?
Right then. Another example of a good time to listen to me.
And when we get three new grown-up chickens, and you watch me put them in the chicken pen with the other three grown-up chickens, and I say, Now people, these chickens are really stupid and don't know that this is their home, and if you let them out they will run away and we will have to go find them IF THE NEIGHBOR'S DOG DOESN'T EAT THEM FIRST?
Well, my dearest darling shortest people, that is another good time to listen to me. Because collecting wet, frightened hens in the middle of a thunderstorm is not my idea of a good time. Climbing in a tiny dog-house-igloo-thingy to fetch an angry, wet, frightened hen with a superty sharp beak? ALSO NOT MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME. And holding said angry, wet, frightened hen with my left arm whilst picking up another wet, frightened hen with my right arm, and then being pecked WITHOUT MERCY by the Left Arm Hen?
Turns out you were listening at that very moment. Because three pairs of wide eyes stared with shock as I called Left Arm Hen a mother$ucker.
Moral of the story: You should listen the first time.