My two year old loves to yell “Cheers” and then slam her sippy cup against unsuspecting tablemates as they foolishly attempt to take a drink from a glass, an exercise they thought they had perfected over the past thirty-seven years.
Not only does she hoist her juice-water high but she’ll toast anything on her plate or in her hands whenever the mood should strike often resulting in the rest of us wearing our meals and the one person at the table sporting a bib sits pretty.
Last night it seemed obvious (to her, not to me) that we were both eating a raw carrot at the same time. By the time she made the connection, grabbed her mini-carrot and looked to me for approval, I was already happily chewing and engaging in a heated debate over which pair of Polly Pocket’s boots would look better on Selena Gomez if they came to life.
Much to my surprise, I was sucker punched in the cheek by a carrot wielding two year old who couldn’t actually see my carrot but knew it was somewhere in the vicinity of my mouth.
I guess chipping a tooth and choking on carrot shards would have been worse had she not yelled, “Cheers!” mid-clocking.