Yesterday I left it late to go and grab some fruit and vegetables. I've not discovered anyone really close to our new abode to buy really good produce, so I venture back to my old stomping ground - where everyone knows my name, but Ted Danson isn't around.
We quickly did the rounds of the butcher, the fruit and veg, and then drove to the supermarket. We were doing really well, whizzing around the aisles, Tiny clutching her 'things to pay for' tightly, Matt met us and the four of us traversed the supermarket together. How's that for solidarity?
We got to the check out and Tiny - out of the blue - starts saying top-of-lungs "You're 'gina. You're 'gina." Not just a couple of times. Not even quietly. But chanting it. TOP OF LUNGS. I don't know who was more embarrassed. Matt tried to change the subject and try to refocus Tiny on her new hair bands - NEW HAIR BANDS! The teenage checkout dude didn't make eye contact and scanned us through super fast. I took Tiny out of the trolley and sent her off to look at some 'flowlas' that were conveniently at her height. I was waiting for the reprise of "You're 'gina, you're 'gina," but it passed. Thank goodness. I need one of those trumpet mutes for Tiny to shove in her mouth whenever she feels the need to become a tiny chorister.
Despite how publically humiliating it is, it's a small (tiny) improvement on her standard: "I love you Mum" she tilts her head - then - "Mum... You're poo!"
Ah sweet toddlers.
