Whenever we go to the store my daughter gravitates to the Hallmark cards. (Yes, I did link to them. I will do it as much as I want because I’m a HALLMARK GOLD MEMBER already. That’s like two steps away from writing cards for them.)
My daughter walks along the aisle touching each and every card until she finds what she needs.
N: Dawg. (For the record: I’m not exaggerating her accent.)
Her eyes light up.
N: MAMA! DAWG!
Me: Yes, that’s a dog.
She picks it up and brings it closer to my face. In case this dog in a bow/hat/lei/fez/braids/beer looks different than the dog in shoes/cape/scrunchie/earrings/car on last week’s card.
Joyful tidings of DAWG! DAWG! DAWG! fill the store. And for the rest of the our time getting soap, socks and ibuprofen, she clutches the card like I’d clutch a mink stole in a P.E.T.A. meet-up.
At the end of a delightful wander through throngs of candles, cat food and candy, we arrive at the cash register, and I am faced with 2 choices:
- I can pull the card from my 20-month-old’s small vice-like hands and face tears of dawg, mama? my dawg? while attempting to pay for an arm full of toiletries without losing my bored four-year-old to the family with three older boys and a cart of Disney DVDs.
- I can buy a $1.99 card and leave with my dignity.
Tonight, I opened our most recent DAWG card purchase.