Page 24 of Daddy!

"No," I said promptly and pleasantly.

Another confused look. "No, what?"

"No rules. That would be my vote."

"Sweet pea, you don't have a vote." I frowned fiercely at that. "But I would think you would want to give me your input on the rules you're going to be expected to live by," Mane pointed out practically.

I ceased trying to be a smartass at that. "Oh. Well, then, my answer is still no to rules!"

He gave a very long suffering sigh.

"All right, all right I'll behave."

That got me an incredulous look as he peered at me disbelievingly. "Who are you, and what have you done to Tahlia, that she's all of a sudden going to behave?"

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"All right then, so, we have a bedtime of ten o'clock already."

"Booooo, hisssssss," I commented from the bottom of my heart as I leaned back against his arm.

Mane looked up at me from under his brows. "It's not like I'm not very well aware of your opinion on bedtimes. I was aware of that from before I knew you were little. Unfortunately for you, it's also proven very beneficial to you to have one in place, and I can only think that it's going to be better for you to have even more structure as a little."

"But I'm 'llergic to structure!"

"Uh huh. I'll lay in a supply of epi pens and Benadryl."

I grumbled under my breath.

"So. No more thongs—only age appropriate underwear."

I could hear him tapping away on his iPad. "Are you writing all of this down?" I asked incredulously.

"I am, you know me and my lists. I have lists of my lists. I like things to be organized. I have a list of potential rules and also have a little shopping list, onto which I'm putting jammies—summer first—more pull ups, little clothes, feel free to suggest things to add."

"Canny—like Rolos an' Kit Kat—an' Fruit Loops, an' more ice cream an' hot fudge an' whipped cream to go with it," I offered helpfully.

"Uh, no. Is there anything you can think of that you need?"

"But I need Fruit Loops—have you seen the kinna cereal you got in your cupboards? It's all nasty healthy stuffs!"

"I thought you liked my steel cut oatmeal," he said, sounding wounded to the core.

"I like it with lots of brown sugar and cimmamon, 'n half an' half, but when you make it, it's got skim milk—which is no better'n water—'n flies in it!"

Another heavy sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Those are raisins, not flies."

"Look like flies ta' me," I murmured under my breath.

"Peewee," he reprimanded firmly.

"Yes, Daddy?" I responded in a sickly-sweet tone.

"So, since you're not taking this seriously, I'm going to assume that you want me to decide all of this without you. Bedtime at eight, castor oil twice a day, and three naps."

"Wait!" I sat up in alarm. "What? No!"

I got the eyebrow again. "I assume I now have your attention?"

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