We live a ten-minute drive from a large city.
A city that has more stores than our bustling little town.
Stores we occasionally need to shop at when we need something more than groceries.
Enough background . . .
We (Husby, Daughter, Granddaughter and me) were heading ‘into town’.
For a three-year-old, it is a long, exhausting trip.
A game of I-Spy was indicated.
For the first few turns, all went well.
Granddaughter would pose, “I spy with my teensy-tinesy little eye, something that is . . .”
You know the game.
She posed. We guessed.
We posed. Everyone guessed.
Then it was Husby’s turn.
He started out all right. “I spy with my little eye . . .”
But then it all fell apart, because he ended with: “. . . something that is red but not red like Mommy’s bicycle.”
There was a momentary silence in the back seat as this riddle was digested.
Then a high little three-year-old voice said, decisively, “That’s not right Grandpa!”
I want to emphasize the word ‘decisively’. Because nothing else better describes a little three-year-old playing a favourite game.
This statement was immediately followed by: “You’re out.”
What? No warning? No yellow card?
Straight to the red (but not red like Mommy's bicycle) card?
Did you know it’s possible to be immediately ejected from a game of I-Spy?
By a three-year-old?
Well, it is.
|Oh, sure. They look sweet and innocent.|
But give them a striped sweater and a whistle . . .