Yesterday we had friends over for a playdate. Mabel took off her clothes and tried to show them her penis. I hid under the table.
This morning we went to Ikea.
Mabel: Peenie, peenie. I want a peenie. I love your peenie, Dash.
Dash: Mabel, say peenie again.
Me: Stop it. Both of you. Dash, you know better.
Dash: Mabel, don't say peenie.
Mabel: Peenie, peenie.
Me, darkly: Nobody will be getting any ice-cream.
Mabel: Ponnie, ponnie.
Me: That's fine.
[Five minutes pass; we are almost past the checkouts and at the double-edged sword of ice-cream.]
Dash: Mabel, don't say poopy.
Mabel, with glee: Poopy! Poopy!
Me: No ice-cream, then.
Ice-cream is consumed. Lunch is deferred. Once again, I resolve never more to darken the hallowed Swedish doors.