La Petite Belles’ birthday is drawing closer and closer.
As long as she was preschooler, she’s wanted a horse.
She asks for it over and over again. And, I explain over and over again the impossibility of this ever happening. I explain the cost issue, not only for the horse, but for the upkeep. She still doesn’t get it six years later. Not. At. All.
Her request for this year … a horse.
I say, for the one millionth time, “We cannot get a horse. We can’t afford it, don’t have a place for it, and can’t pay for it to stay at a stable. It’s time to pick something else that’s realistic.”
La Petite Belle: “OK, a tiny, baby horse.”
Me: “Still not realistic.”
La Petite Belle continues to belabor the point.
I say, “If you want a horse, you’re just going to have to marry a farmer.”
La Petite Belle wrinkles up her face and says, “I’m not gonna marry some old coop.”
Me: “It’s coot.”
La Petite Belle: “Coot. Coop. I’m not gonna marry one.”