So my seventeen month old Dylan gave me the dirtiest meanest look in the world and I am scared

So I pick up my seventeen month old Dylan and we are walking around the house, as I search for the remote control that he probably threw somewhere, like into the cat's water bowl like he did last time (Comcast told us we had to bring the old one in before they would exchange it). Anyway, I am wearing my glasses.

Dylan always grabs at them, and its hard while he does that to have to move my face around, try to dodge him, AND keep from dropping him. Today I feel he is old enough to start getting some messages about "No".

I might have waited too long, but I have been too tired to enforce heavy discipline on him.

Anyway, he grabs the glasses, pulls them off, and throws them up against a bookshelf. They crash and then fall to the floor.

I put him down, put his arms forcefully to his side, and say "No,no, Dylan. No,no."

He was standing there looking up at me, and then he gave me one of those mean looks, like -

"I'll kick your ass someday, old man. I'll not only throw your glasses, but I'll knock your cane out from under you and push you down the stairs. You better keep your eyes peeled, because you are f**kin' dead."

Okay so maybe some of that dialogue I imagine is overblown. But the look he gave me, last time I got that look, I had told my wife Kristen she had a figure like a clock.

I meant hourglass.

"A big round clock?" she asked, giving me that look scowl.

"No, a curvy hourglass." I said, realizing my mistake."You know? Ga-ga-ga-zoing-zoing!" I made the motions curving my hands down simulating a Marilyn Monroe figure - out at the bosom, in at the waist, out at the hips. Like the redhead on the show Mad Men.

"Va-va-va-voom!" I said. "Hourglass. Not clock."

It was too late. She kept giving me that look vicious scowl.

And now so did my seventeen month old Dylan.

I am toast.