Will you Dance for Coffee?

I am lying in bed. I do not want to get up. We forgot to turn the heater on last night, so it is cold. I am clinging to my bed sheets, thinking about the day before me.

"Coffee?" Sam indicates as he comes out of the shower.
"I made it yesterday. Your turn," I say.
Later, as he sits at his computer for his morning ritual of zombie games and facebook checking, he turns to me. I am still in bed, still bathed in the bedsheets.
"Why aren't you making coffee? I made coffee yesterday," he says.
"I made coffee yesterday," I say. "It's your turn."
"I made coffee..." he trails off, his eyes searching the room like a wiley critter. "Um... I made coffee that one time."
"I'm not making coffee!" I insist.
"I danced all day yesterday," he says.
"When? No you didn't."
He begins jiggling in his seat, moving his arms sporadically. "I'm dancing now. Dancing for coffee."
I point to an open area on the floor. "You want coffee so bad, bellydance for me right there."
He gets up, near the spot I pointed at, and begins doing his own rendition of snake arms. "I'm dancing," he tells me.
"Move your hips," I say.
"I AM moving my hips!" he tells me. "I'm a boy, I don't have hips."
He then proceeds to sit down. I get out of bed and make coffee.