Little Fiona kicks the covers off her trundle bed and hurls Beary Bear across the room. “But I want them,” she screeches at the babysitter.
“No,” the babysitter repeats again. “No cookies. It’s bedtime.”
Little Fiona pouts, tucks her curly hair behind her ears like a vindictive sorority girl. “Like the others. You’re not fun.”
The babysitter, just one week out of college, walks calmly down the stairs. When she returns, she places a serving tray littered with cookies and a hefty glass of milk on the bed. Then of course, a good ol’ waste basket on the floor. “Go nuts.”