Image: Flickr/thinkpanama

I had to stop shopping at our local supermarket when Flea earnestly told one of the check-out staff that “My Mummy says if you don’t have any clean clothes you can just take something out of the laundry basket.”

There was also a teeny, tiny, hardly-worth-mentioning incident involving a digital camera (NOT mine) that contained photos of someone ‘enjoying’ themselves. But that’s a story for another day. Suffice to say, the people working at the first supermarket probably still refer to me as ‘that woman who doesn’t wash and hangs out with perverts’.

Anyway, we switched our allegiance to the second supermarket in our small town.

Yesterday, we were doing a quick grocery shop on the way home, and Flea was helping. She’s just now beginning to be aware of brands and packaging, and she loves to point out the things we have at home as we pass them in the store.

This is a very positive parenting sort of activity. Flea likes to read out packaging to me, and I say things like, “Ooh, well spotted, darling.”

So we were in the pharmacy aisle when I hear a shout from ten feet or so behind me.

“Mummy, we’ve got this in our bathroom!” Flea yells. “Nut-riss?”

Flea is holding up a packet of Garnier Nutrisse hair dye.

“Yes, darling, we do.  It’s Nutrisse. Well spotted,” I reply. I turn away.

Five seconds later, another shout. “We’ve got this too!”

I turn around. The world slows down, somehow.

“DUREX! WE’VE GOT THESE IN OUR BATHROOM, MUMMY!”

I manage to smile encouragingly and make some movement with my eyebrows to suggest, gosh, we really must get on.  Pensioners are staring at me, in horror, presumably wondering what other horrors my small, innocent child is being exposed to.

“EXCEPT OURS IS A BIGGER BOX!”

I’m just waiting for the call from social services.