Tonight, 7:55 pm. I am just taking Poppy out of the bath. Ed has just put the other girls to bed and retired with ice cream in front of the TV. So naturally, Ginger comes down to see what I'm up to.
"Dad forgot to turn on the music. Did Poppy have a bath?"
"I want to have a bath."
"It's too late for you to have a bath tonight; it's bedtime. I'll give you a bath tomorrow."
Low rumbling sound: Ginger's temper boiling. Chin down, eyebrows down, glaring out from underneath.
"If you give me a bath tomorrow, then I'm going to hit you on the head!"
Eastwood squinty eyes. Cue western stand-off music.
"Really? What happens if you hit me on the head?"
Trying to hold the glare, but a smile creeping in.
"I get time out."
A moment to think and recompose squinty glare. Cogs of logic turning. How. to. get. her. way?
"Then you BETTER give me a bath TONIGHT because I DON'T want time-out!"
The reasoning is impeccable. But we're still doing baths tomorrow.