Sorry

I'm sitting at the dinner table, minding my own business, when - zing, SPLAT! - I find myself the victim of airborne marinara sauce.

Turning to my left, I see a little girl who is just bursting at the seams with the effort she's putting forth.  Tears have popped into her eyes, and she's trying with all her might not to laugh.

But I'm no fool.  Her empty spoon is held high.  Think catapult.

Me: Princess, we NEVER throw food at the table.  That is NOT funny.

The Princess: Heh.

Me: Oh, no.  This is not funny.  It makes me very sad that you would throw your food at me.  Please say you're sorry.  (Showing her the sign for "sorry")

The Princess vehemently shakes her head from side to side, cackling.

The Hubbs is turning purple.

Me: Excuse me, Princess!  We never act like that.  You hurt my feelings.  Please say you're sorry.  (Showing the sign for "sorry" again)

The Princess points straight at me and grins, on the verge of giggles. 

Me: ... (Shooting daggers out of my eyes)

The Hubbs is doubled over in his seat.  I think he may need to start breathing into a paper bag soon.

The Princess carefully forms a fist with her left hand, placing it against her chest and moving it in a small circle, perfectly displaying the sign for "sorry" while pointing her spoon at my face and belly laughing.

What do I choose to take from this?  The fact that she said she was sorry.  So she didn't mean it.  What five-year-old does, really?