When I was in Wal-Mart recently, I found myself in the row with the curling irons and hair dryers and bows and clips and conditioners and whatever. In spite of a life time of disappointments, I remain hopefully (or delusionally) convinced that there is a product out there that will tame my hair. My hair was a Tasmanian Devil in a previous life – perpetually snarly and in a bad mood. And it remains so.
Nonetheless, there I was reaching for yet another curling iron. “Mommy! Put that back,” Sean scolds me from the cart seat. “You don’t need that!” Wonder where he has heard that? I turned my head away from the curling iron and gave him the Are you talkin’ to ME? look.
“Oh really?” I asked. “Well then, I guess we don’t need any toys today either.”
He stopped for a nano-second to consider that and then quickly advised, “You should get that.”
And then he snatched the curling iron from my hand and threw it in the cart.
And thats how we increased our collection of curling irons and Matchbox cars.