One of the highlights of daycare this past year for Miss A was show and tell each Thursday.
This festive occasion always coincided with the letter of the week, but being the strong-willed girl she is, she would always shoot down whatever practical suggestions I’d rattle off.
For P week, which of course stands for princess when you’re 5, she chose a small plastic Cinderella figurine. After school that day and after she’d eaten her snack she started scrounging around in her pants pocket, and instead of procuring the usual mulch chips she proudly fished out the tiny head of Cinderella, not much bigger than a pencil eraser.
“Miss A, what happened to your Cinderella?” I asked, assuming it had just broken off.
“Mommy, you won’t believe this. My friend Sally bit her head off!” *
No I couldn’t really believe it.
It was one of those moments when you look at your child and say, “What in the world?”
It was one of those moments when you look at your child and think, “What the HELL?”
You have to wonder if when Sally’s mom asked her what she did that day at school she said, “Mommy, I bit Cinderella’s head off!”
*Name changed to protect the true identity of future Ozzy Osbourne.
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