My daughter, Cinderella

We went out for Mother’s Day on Saturday, with Kiddo3 and Kiddo4 grumbling because they hate the desserts at the restaurant I picked. Not a problem. This is the kind of restaurant where they load your plate with a shovel, so at the end of the meal everyone’s too stuffed to eat anything else, and therefore like good Americans the rest of us had our tremendous desserts boxed up to go home.

Before we got home, we went into the grocery store, and my Patient Husband took K3 and K4 over to the freezer section so they could pick out ice cream and be properly desserted. I took a detour over to the toothpaste, and Kiddo2 followed me.

“Of course,” I said, “they’ve discontinued mine.” Whenever I like something, they discontinue it. It’s kind of a badge of honor with me. I get to feel proud of being nonconformist rather than bummed out that I need to resort to mint-flavored toothpaste again.

Kiddo2 shrieked. “Look! They have regular Crest!”

I didn’t realize this was an issue for her. I said, “Get one,” and she clutched it to her chest the way some people would cuddle the kitten they saved from rising floodwaters.

We met up with my Patient Husband. Kiddo3 and Kiddo4 each had a single-serving tub of ice cream in a different flavor.

At the checkout lane, the boys each presented the cashier their tub of ice cream, and then my daughter produced her toothpaste.

And the cashier looked at me. 

I know that look. “That’s not her dessert!” I exclaimed. “There’s a reason for this. Don’t worry! She’s got a cheesecake in the car!”

She rang us up, giving me disgusted looks the whole time.

So there you have it: toothpaste is a treat for my unloved daughter, Cinderella.