Mid-shower this morning, an officious-looking Amy appears at the glass door.

“Mummy, I need a spoon”
“Uh, Amy, I’m in the shower”
*blank stare and blink*
“You can get yourself a spoon”
“I can’t, mummy, I’m frightened of the lawnmower.”
“Amy, there’s no lawnmower, you’ll be fine.”
“Mummy, you HAVE to get it, cos….I’m frightened of a dog.”
“Amy, there’s no dog here. Why do you want a spoon, anyway?”
“I made a bowl of bum-bum soup and need to feed it to Tilly.”
*me leaping from the shower to inspect contents of proffered bowl, whilst imagining the worst possible scenario for the “soup” ingredients, and fearing some sort of new low in sibling-jealousy-defense tactics. Palpable relief upon realising the soup was imaginary.*
“Good. You finished your shower, so can you get me a spoon?”

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