Walking through the mall to return a bunch of stuff and to find something else, The Girlie’s legs got tired (though they miraculously found their strength later when we spotted the play area…). I made the regular offer to carry her “in front, or on my shoulders”, and she chose the former. After several hundred yards of trudging along, she started to complain about something I was doing.
“Stop it, Daddy! It’s messing my hair.”
Unsure of my offense and lacking further clarification, I tried to keep my distance from her hair as I continued my quest. A minute later, the protest resumed.
“Daddy, please stop that! My hair is in my face.”
I brushed her hair to the side, and again asked what I was doing.
“Stop sniffing me. I’m not food!”