Since N was in Florida for a week, the kids were very excited to see him on Tuesday evening.  Wednesday he dropped them off at school and told Miss T that he would pick her up after work.  However, he got bogged down in first-day-back mess, so asked me to get her instead.  She’ll be mad, he warned, because she’s expecting me.

And indeed she was mad, and threw a fit from the time I buckled her into the car until we pulled into the garage.  (Fortunately, it’s a short trip.)  I managed to distract her by requesting “help” with dinner, and by the time N arrived home it appeared that his transgression was forgotten.

But after dinner the three of us were still sitting at the table (sans AE, who always wolfs down his dinner and then runs off to do whatever it is that 8-year-old boys do), and Miss T leaned back in her chair, a watchful eye on her father.

“I wanted you to pick me up from school,” she began, her tone that of a person betrayed.  “But you didn’t.”  Pointing at me, Miss T continued deliberately, “She picked me up.  And you weren’t there.”

Her point made, Miss T resumed her casual pose and waited for a response.  N and I were helpless to do anything but laugh, because it was easy to read between the lines and hear what she didn’t say: You ruined my evening, and I hope you’re happy.

This kid, y’all.  Man.  I feel sorry for her future husband.