And you wanted to wait in the car…

You and I arrived at the store, little one.  I parked the car.

“Okay, sweetie.  We need to go inside and pick up my tuxedo. Then we can go to lunch.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” you said.

“What?”

“I want to wait in the car, Daddy.”

I couldn’t believe it. You were reading a Clifford the Big Red Dog book and had no desire to exit the vehicle.  It was the first time you had ever asked to remain in the car alone.

You sounded more like your mother than any other time in your life thus far.    

I admit that for a moment, I considered granting your request.  I figured that if I entered the store and remained by the door, with one eye on the car while the salesman retrieved my tuxedo, you would be fine.

This is why mothers exist. I knew that Mommy would kill me if she ever found out what I had done. 

And it turned out pretty great for you, little one.  You discovered the mirrored platform used by the store’s tailor inside the store, which she mistook for her own personal stage. 

It took me about fifteen to extract you from “the stage” and exit the store, and only after agreeing to dance with you in front of an audience of salesmen and customers.