In the evening we had dinner. He was looking worried and disturbed about something.
"Mommy, can I ask you a question? Are you really my Mommy? Am I really a little girl?"
I just about spat out my milk when he said that!
"Prissy, how can you ask a question like that! Of course you're a little girl! Look at yourself, honey! You have long hair, and you wear dresses! How could you be anything but Mommy's little girl?"
"But I'm bigger than you are! And I'm so much bigger than all the little girls I see on television. They all go to school! Why don't I go to school, Mommy?"
"There are good answers to all these questions, Prissy, and I'll explain it to you when you're older. Help me clear the table, and we're going to go say hello to those men having their barbecue."
"Not again, Mommy!"
"Yes, again, and you're going to do what I say this time. You're going to smile at them and you're going to curtsey. And you're going to skip, this time. I want you to skip up to them. If you don't I'll take that brand new dress you love so much and throw it in the trash!"
"No! Mommy!"
"Don't cry and carry on so. I'm your Mommy and you have to do what I say. Help me with the dishes and let's get going."
We loaded up the dish washer and turned it on. I took a last look at pretty Prissy to make sure he looked perfect, and we left.
They always have their barbecue until late in the evening on a Sunday. I made Prissy skip right up to them, which wasn't easy for him to do in high heels. They all started laughing as soon as they saw him, but he presented himself to them and smiled and dropped them the sweetest little curtsey I've ever seen him do. It was darling!