We were standing in the line at the material store.

Every kids favourite thing to do on the Sunday of a long weekend, don’t you know.

It is, isn’t it?

Surely,there is nothing more rewarding than trawling the rows upon rows of cottons and velvets?

Surely.

Each child has picked a coloured fabric so that I can make some superhero capes for our Christmas card shoot and the line is long with mostly women, of varying age.

The little ones are restless and the little boy, especially so. He is grumbling and carrying on in true male, ”I don’t want to be here shopping, for a start and in a place that has nary a Thomas the tank engine in sight” style.

His sister tells him if he continues to misbehave there will be no treat for him. (News to me, I had not planned on treating anybody with anything other than a cape and superhero goggles and a two hour photo session).

He leans in close to her and says…

…”You want a piece of me?”

The line women turn their heads sharply to lock their eyes on the person, this would be agitator and when they see he is a small, blonde, barrel of a child, they immediately shift their eyes to me.

I feel the blood rise in my cheeks and I look to the boy who has brought about my beetroot face.

Some women tut but most snigger and I ruffle his hair in good humour.

I am mortified until David leans over and whispers…

“At least he didn’t say, ‘your boobs are hawt‘”.