Gammy's Chair

I was with Troy in our formal dining room the other day, folding laundry, and I went to sit down in one of the chairs. Troy came running over and pushed me out of the chair, screaming, “Noooo! Walk away, dada! No sitting in chair.”

Not sure why I was being forbidden from sitting down, I asked him, “Why can’t I sit down? My back hurts.”

To which he replied, “That’s Gammy’s chair.” Apparently, he remembered that my mom had sat in that particular chair a few months ago when she was last here. We had been in this room doing a puzzle at the table. So, respecting his wishes to keep that chair reserved for her, I went to sit down in another chair. He again pushed me out, saying, “That’s Gammy’s chair.”

“But I thought that was Gammy’s chair,” I said pointing to the first chair.

“That’s Gammy’s chair too.”

So, I eventually got relegated to the far end of the table, having been told that the four choicest options were reserved for his Gammy.

UPDATE: When I shared this story with my mom, she said, “That’s my boy!!!”