Why I Can Never Win Around Here: Or The Secret of Snookie-Wookums

From time to time, the Teacher and I have a... disagreement. (I know! You never would have guessed it!) Sometimes the disagreement is minor, such as whether I can have a three day weekend like my peers in public school, or whether I have to send a letter to someone I don't like, or if I have to keep studying an evil topic (evil topics range anywhere from piano to an extremely badly written history textbook whose authors deserve a separate circle of hell for being such awful, biased, stupid, politically-correct and politically judgmental writers). Occasionally, when we find that we cannot settle the disagreement through calm, rational discourse, we call in a third party to cast the deciding vote.
The Principal. (Cue the drum roll.)
I figured out a long time ago that the Principal was biased. I learned that it was in my own best interest to negotiate with the Teacher, since the Principal was 95% certain to come down on the Teacher's side. I did not understand why this was. I foolishly assumed that this was a world-wide conspiracy of adults for adults only and always against the child. After all, ageism is everywhere; it made sense to me that it would be in my own home, as well.
But it was not so.
I have recently discovered the shocking, the real, the nearly unbelievable truth! The Principal sides with the Teacher because she has better voice control than I do! I know, you don't believe it. I warned you.
But it's true.
Not so long ago, the Teacher and I had one of our more than minor disagreements. I felt that since I was the one who was cooking, I should have the louder voice in deciding what was for dinner. She thought that since she was the one who had to eat it, she should decide. We could not agree. I wanted chili. She wanted I-can't-remember-what. (A bad memory is essential in a truly Christian life-style of forgiving those that offend you. I'm not sure what I would do without it.) We argued. We fussed. We raged back and forth in the hallowed halls of the kitchen. To this day I don't know why I consulted her, and didn't just make what I wanted.
Finally, she played her ace. She called the Principal, who was at work. She explained her side to him. I quickly chipped in my defense. And then, she dropped all pretense of democracy, of fairness, of political equality.
She called him... snookie-wookums. I feel like gagging just writing it.
And the Principal, when he heard this blatant- blatant, I say!- appeal to authority, spoke the final words: “Whatever you say, goes.”
Argh! No! I didn't want whatever-it-was! I wanted chili! (I think. I don't really remember. It was a cold, rainy, blustery day, so it seems likely that I wanted something hot, such as chili.) I snatched the phone and made a desperate attempt at appeal.
“Doesn't chili sound good on such a dark and stormy night, dearest-” this was it, this was it! I would only have one chance to pronounce the dire password. The Teacher was already advancing to reclaim the phone. “Snookulie-hee-hee-wook-ha-um-ums?”
And so you have it. We didn't have chili, but it matters not (almost) for we have gained for the world an important truth: as long as I can't say ridiculous things with a straight voice, I will never have true freedom and equal political representation in this world. And neither will you. Ageism has nothing to do with it. It's all in how you ask, and if you can't ask correctly, tough beans.
Humph.