It was only at the till that the large freezerpops box came to his attention. What slight of hand! And the box was of not inconsiderable weight and bulk either. Lost in wonder, admiration and pride at this little girl who could perform such marvels, he duly packed the freezerpops with a wry smile and the rest of the shopping. Then the negotiation began.
I want the them – What? – The Elsa Pops – No, they are freezerpops, you have to freeze them – No, you don’t. Pause. I want to hold them – They’re packed away, they have to be frozen – I want to hold them – O why do you always tell me what to do?
Browbeaten, he takes them out of the shopping bag. They return the trolley to its chain, she all the while carrying the box, arms at ninety degrees, chin down, and then return to the car.
I want one – No, we have to take them home – But I want one now.
Changing tack, he calmly explains: Look, it says freezerpops, they’re for freezing, at home, in the freezer – No I want one now – No, they’re freezerpops, look – But…
Her objection runs out of steam and she is put in the car, box in lap. Silence all the way home: she is scrutinising the box, it has transfixed her. What is so compelling about the box itself?
Getting out of the car, she calmly explains: Look, it says here, look it says, does not have to be frozen, you see?
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