Setting the Table

What do you think about when you set the table? I admit I haven't really set the table in several years, that being one of the first chores relegated to our "dwarfs". However, I will say I find housework in general to be repetitious and monotonous. I find myself playing games like lets see how many dishes we can load in 15 min. or I bet I can sweep the kitchen before this song quits playing on Pandora. Sometimes I load dishes from left to right, other times from right to left. Other times I let mind wander while I do the same chore for the 1,000,000,000th time writing a new blog, or an imaginary letter, or I call my sisters to take my mind off of what I'm doing--yes, that's why you all get calls at about the same time every day. Otherwise I think I might go insane, feeling like Sisyphus rolling that big rock up the hill over and over.
However. I do not think I felt like that when I was a kid. Setting the table, or any chore for that matter, was simply an unpleasant interruption to my business of being a kid. That's not to say I didn't occasionally use the chore as an opportunity to expand my playing...I could be a poor orphan ordered to set the table for the rest of the unfortunates; I could be a giant and the sauce I was asked to stir was a cauldron; I could be lost in the forest and the meal I set out were things I had scavenged from the wilderness. Anyway, that's what I vaguely remember.
Do not ask me what my kids are thinking when they are setting the table. Apparently, on July 4, Paris was thinking, I wonder what will happen when I dial 911. In between clearing the table of the mail and other miscellaneous items and getting the plates down, he decided to dial 911, and then push the end button, because he did know that you shouldn't call 911 unless there is an emergency.
Two minutes later (Paris had just counted out 6 plates), an emergency operator called and asked if everything was alright. I thought for sure she had the wrong number. I looked around. Apollo was outside, Tritan was on the computer, Athena was watching TV, Paris was setting the table--who could have called 911? The operator told me I had to talk to the policemen outside and tell them everything was ok. Policemen? What policemen? I looked outside--no car. Surely, this lady was mistaken; she had the wrong house, the wrong number--what was she talking about? But sure enough, they had parked just behind the bushes in front of our house-- I guess not to alarm any would-be attackers into a panic killing spree, and were just then approaching our house with a wary caution.
I apologized profusely. Paris followed me outside, still holding the plates, looking slightly curious and not in the least bit guilty. I tried to surmise how Apollo could have called from our house and still be 4 houses down playing with a neighbor. I wondered if Tritan had somehow hacked into the emergency response system without knowing it and tripped a call button or something. I never once suspected Paris holding the plates as his perfect alibi.
The officers took my name, my number, and my birthday. I'm not sure why they needed all that information but he was young and cute, so I complied and apologized again.
Paris eventually copped to calling, though he was amazed that the call went through. "I hit the red button!" So that mystery was solved, but I still want to know why anyone would call 911--even for pretend--in the middle of setting the table. When I asked him, he replied "I don't know!"