String, string, string on my shirt

Alex: Happy Father’s Day.


Alex: Claire didn’t listen when we – when we got back to the car.


(Alex is in the bathroom by himself, using the potty, and sings a slow, melancholy tune.)
Alex: String, string, string on my shirt
Alex: String on my shirt
Alex: There’s a string on my shirt
Alex: There’s a string
Alex: A string
(The next bit is unintelligible.)
Alex: No… he doesn’t know
Alex: What you said
Alex: I can’t get the string off
Alex: Oh then
Alex: I can’t get it
Alex: Then I can’t
Alex: Tear it again
Alex: I can’t tear it
Alex: It’s just a hair (?)
Alex: Then what am I gonna do
Alex: I didn’t see
Alex: I didn’t see
Alex: I didn’t
Alex: I, I didn’t
Alex: I didn’t
Alex: I didn’t
Alex: I didn’t all day
Alex: Til tuh mo
Alex: Muh-day so-dah
Alex: They call what you need
Alex: Of you please
Alex: Around (unintelligible)
Alex: Doh kuh too
Alex: Doh buhhhhh
(Pause.)
Alex (shouting to Daddy in the other room): Daddy, if you poop, do you get a piece of chocolate?


(dinner time)
Claire (to Alex): Uh trade. Uh trade. Uh trade.
Alex: We don’t trade… forks or spoons.