“Do you need me to find a quiet corner of this parking lot, young lady?” he asked me, in *that* tone of voice.
I’ll admit it. Even after all these years together, I gulped hard.
Meekly – much more so than I had been prior to him saying that - “Uh, no, Daddy.”
We were having a discussion . . . okay, I was being . . . uh . . . a bit . . . strident about something I wanted to get just before Daddy gave me the “Princess drop-off” at the door of the grocery store.
He said we didn’t need it, and that, even though it was on sale, I was *not* to buy it.
And he wasn’t wrong. We *don’t* need it, and he can’t even eat it.
But I can, and I *like* to, on occasion.
I *wanted* it, and it was *ON SALE*, for Heaven’s sake – a fact that I kept trying to impress on him!
Sometimes Daddies can be *so* stubborn!
And when that didn’t work, I became what is – for me – strident (read: whiney).
“No, but I *want* it!”
“We don’t need it, and you’re *not* to get it,” he replied patiently.
“No, but I want it!”
I couldn’t tell you how many times I said that phrase, not that I thought he was going to change his mind, exactly.
But I *can* tell you that it was, apparently, several too many for him.
His usually infinite patience with me ran out when he uttered the above question.
I didn’t get it, dammit.
And then, to add insult to injury, as we’re heading home, he says quite casually, as he takes my hand and laces his fingers with mine, “When we get home, we’re going to have a talk about your little outburst.”
“I didn’t have an outburst,” I stated staunchly. “Did I raise my voice?”
And yes, dear reader, I *am*, obviously, an idiot, talking back to him like that. Even though I was *right*, I should have kept my fat mouth shut.
But an outburst is LOUD, to me.
Apparently it isn’t to him, though.
And it’s *his* opinion that matters – not mine.