McEmma
Yesterday, Emma and I were running errands before she had to go to pre-kindergarten. As we drove home, I realized I had cut our time pretty close, and it was going to be a rush to get her fed lunch and out the door on time.
When we were a couple of miles from our neighborhood, I asked her what she wanted to eat. She said, “I don’t know,” and sat quietly thinking about it.
Another mile passed before she spoke up.
“Mommy?” she said sweetly.
“What.”
“Can I have a Happy Meal?”
“No, Emma.”
“Hmmph,” she grunted, then crossed her arms and frowned.
“Fine,” she snapped, “Can I have a MAD Meal?”
Transfer and integration of the sarcasm gene is complete. And she gets that from her father.
