s is for scowl

Liz joyfully walked around the children's clothing store, pulling out a dress here, a skirt there, and complete outfits everywhere. Her small five year old frame happily danced along, looking for something to wear. Just for fun. Just because.

The deal was, one outfit. Nothing more. I knew it was a deal that didn't make much sense to a pre-kindergartener. Yet, she shook her head, up and down, with wild enthusiasm. Rudy and I accepted the nonverbal agreement.

It didn't take long for her to find green pants and a matching green shirt. Adorable. Little girl cute.

As we were walking down the aisle, towards the register, Liz saw something else she liked. Asked if she could have it. Nope, Rudy said. A deal is a deal. Only one thing. She whined. As any wee little child would.

Rudy told her to stop. She wasn't going to get anything else. No way. No how.

He paid for the too cute green outfit, grabbed the plastic bag, and lifted pleading Liz into his arms. And walked out the door. Her tantrum started small, so he told her if she didn't stop he was going to march right back into that store and return what he had just purchased for her.

I suppose Liz decided to test him. Test to see how far she could push. To get what she wanted. To up the tantrum to the next level. Please! Why not? she cried. He didn't answer. And, she learned real quick.  Right then and there. That with Rudy. She shouldn't test him. Not at all.

He scowled. And set her down. Nudging her into me. And as I held her hand. Held her in place. She watched her dad walk away, holding the cutest outfit you ever did see. Rudy stomped into the store and returned a few minutes later. Empty handed.

Liz's head hung low, and a big fat such a sad girl tear dropped. Down. Splattering smack dab in the middle of her sandle-covered feet, onto the hot, black tar parking lot.