Like pulling teeth

Wicked Stepmother Confession:
   Today, I forced The Boy to do something against his will. He approached me earlier, asking to play the Xbox. A quick glance out the window on my part led to my cruel and inhumane response: "No, bud. Look how beautiful it is outside. Why don't you go ride your bike or play with a friend?"
   You'd have thought I'd shoved bamboo shoots under his fingernails. The Boy proceeded to huff, sigh heavily, and heave himself onto the couch. "Ugh. But I just don't have any energy."
   If you've ever been nine years old, you understand that this reply was pure and total horse manure. Interrupting another heavy sigh, I whip out the big guns. "You're not staying inside. No Xbox, no movies. Go play outside."
   With a look of pure contempt, The Boy turned huffily and trudged up the stairs in a manner reminiscent of the mournful trek of the Swomee Swans and Brown Barbaloots in Dr. Seuss's "The Lorax." A heartbreaking spectacle, let me tell you.
   Moments later, I hear hooting and hollering outside. Peering once again out the window, I spy The Boy leaping and cavorting around with the biggest, stupidest smile he could muster plastered across his face.
   If I'm not careful, someone's going to call Child Protective Services on me. Hide yo' kids.