"1 iced cinnamon swirl and one gingerbread man please" I say to our beloved cake serving lady.
We sit down. Charles grabs my cinnamon swirl, the smell of which is now tantalising my nostrils, virtually prompting a sweat of desire, when Charles yells the M word; "MINE".
I do the right thing, I know what to do, I'm in control, I'm the parent...
"No Charles, that's Mummy's,that's (show rather rejected looking gingerbread dude) yours"
"MINE" (holding delicious, scrumptious, cinnamon swirl which is getting squashed again Charles' chest)
"Well Mummy will share my cake with you, that'd be lovely, but give it to me so I can cut it"
"MINE" followed by a shrill scream that must have had dogs within the vicinity wincing and certainly had a few ladies in their autumn years in Waitrose turn to see, some to smile, others to turn back to their friends with a look and a tut about that dreadful mother who can't control her child.
So what did I do? Well, it's not like I hate gingerbread men, it's nothing personal or anything, but suffice to say I was a little disappointed with my treat in Waitrose this morning. My cinnamon-less pathetic treat with rejection in his eyes. OK, it had smarties, but c'mon.
Well, I've had enough. I'm the boss. Well, clearly I'm not at the moment but I will be, very much so. Oh yes, no more good cop, meet Bad Ass Cop, don't mess with me kids. I'll have my cake and eat it next time.
Little footnote: whilst shopping I did note some of the tabloids had our Princess Kate pushing a trolly in Waitrose, perhaps when I see her in the caf with the little Brats and Bratesses of the future I'll be on hand to lend my perils of wisdom!
|Photographic evidence: Just last weekend this small child was seen trying to pinch |
chocolate off his little cousin's birthday cake. Beware people your cake could be next.