"Flea, have you chosen a bedtime story?" I asked my darling daughter this evening.
"Yes, but I don't know quite which one to have, let me see…"
I start flicking through the bookshelf. "Okay, there's Stick Man, Mr Brown Can Moo, Harry and his Bucketful of dinosaurs..."
I look up. Nothing's grabbed her yet.
"Er, there's How Do Dinosaurs Eat Their Food, or Cat in the Hat, or Oh Boris.."
I pause. Silence.
"Jump in any time you're ready," I say.
Then rifling some more, "Splat the Cat?"
"Mummy.."
"Yes?"
"I want Jump in any Time, please."
"That's not a book, darling, I was just saying.."
"But you said. I want Jump in any Time. Please Mummy, I did ask nicely."
"I know you did poppet, but we don't have that book."
"But you said…" she says in that voice that lets me know I just crushed her childish faith in humanity. Her bottom lip is quivering like a piano string. A tear slides down her cheek.
Of course, I did what all good Mothers do at these moments. I passed the buck.
"How about we read Stick Man tonight, and when Daddy comes next week you can ask him to buy you Jump in any Time?"
