“Can I help you, grumpy pants?” Carter pins his arms across his chest, scowling at me from across the room, where he looks anything but relaxed in the La-Z-Boy he’s lounging in. In fact, he looks quite grumpy, hence the nickname. “I’m not a grumpy pants.” “You’re being a grumpy pants.” “Obviously I’m being a grumpy pants!” He flails a flappy hand through the air.
