“Are all doze pritty dresses for Daddy?”

“Sort of.  You can help me pick the best one . . . first we have to see if they fit.  Go sit on the bench, honey.”

Swing legs.  Swing legs.  Look at Mommy zipping up a dress. “That one’s yucky!”

“Oh, yeah?  Hmmm . . . I think you’re right.”

Sit quietly for exactly two minutes as Mommy zips and unzips as fast a possible.  Get down.  Make faces in the mirror.  Pace.  Pace.  Squat down to try and crane head up into the next stall.  Get hauled off the floor by the arm.  “Guess what I see, Mommy? . . .  Squishy Tushy!” Smack. Smack.  Jiggle.  Jiggle.

“Okay, okay.  That’s enough, or I’m gonna get your tushy.” Pinch. Pinch.  Giggle.  Giggle.

“I see a tummy, Mommy!”  Pat. Pat. Smack.

“Go sit down.”

“Argh!  Are we done yet?”

“Just three more. Go sit.”

“TUMMY!”  Whack! Whack! WHACK!

“Ouch!  No hitting!”

An old lady chuckles in next changing room.

That’s right, folks!  We’ll be here all week.  Be sure to tip your waitress.