Princess, the car is so full I need you to hold this basket of stuff for me on the way home.
and three minutes later there was trouble…
“Give it back!” she yelled.
A muffled Pixie voice replied, “nope.”
I turned around in my seat and saw The Pixie curling herself as far away from The Princess as she could.
“But you’re going to loose it.”
“no!”
“MOM! She took those pens out of the basket and now she’s going to loose them.”
She won’t loose them.
“Yes. She will. And she took them without asking and if she had done that while YOU were holding the basket you would have said, ‘Little fingers. Little fingers.’”
Mr. Right tried not to laugh.
True. Pixie did you ask?
“no.”
Princess - it’s not such a big deal if she wanted to look at those pens. Pixie – you should have asked. How about you just hold the basket on your lap the rest of the way home.
“Aggh! No! I do not want that in my lap!”
You need to be responsible for something.
“NO!” as I shoved it onto her lap.
So she wailed.
Does Dad need to pull this car over?
and Mr. Right added, “Do I need to pull this car over?”
There was silence for one breath and then she mangled out, “Today is a totally Bad Day.”
The Princess quickly interjected, “How can you say that? You got hot chocolate at mom’s eye appointment. You got stuff for your birthday party at the store. You got chocolate milk and a bagel at dad’s work when we had to get his phone…
Mr. Right pseudo-voiced, “That’s what I would have said.”
The Pixie was offended, “Yeah, but I spilled the hot chocolate on my shirt. My eye got poked really bad at the store. I spilled the chocolate milk on my shirt too, and now I have to hold this basket!!” she finished off.
Mr. Right grinned at the traffic in front of him.
“AND I’m sick! It IS a bad day.”
The problem with being the funny one is that everything you say is funny. Even the occasional disclaimers you don’t intend to be funny.
Four out of Five thought this conversation was amusing.
Eventually The Princess distracted her and they began talking over and around and under each other and The Pirate began laughing at what they said and Mr. Right was saying something about something and suddenly it was too much for me.
There’s too much noise in here. I picked a random victim. Princess you’re done talking, I declared.
She went quiet for two breaths.
And then, to our surprise, the air vents suddenly sent out a force of wind and over the hurricane Mr. Right had to yell, “Hey! Who did that? Who turned on the vents back there?!”
I looked back in time to see The Princess quickly curl her toes in toward her like the Wicked Witch of the East. The Princess’ toes did it. They couldn’t help themselves. The air buttons are so tempting.
“Rule 431:” reminded Mr. Right, “NO ONE but Mom and Dad adjust the air!”
The Princess was ashamed, “Sorry.”
You’re fine.
Her penitence went to zero. I quickly amended, OK you’re not fine. But you’re not in trouble. It’s done.
She nodded innocently.
The Pixie looked on with pleasure.
And The Pirate laughed, “You’re fine. You’re NOT fine,” out the window.
Ain’t that the truth?