At the grocery store, my 4-year-old daughter sees the aisles not as rows of cereal and canned soup, but as her personal stage. Every trip becomes a dance recital—pirouettes past the produce, twirls in the frozen food section, and the occasional cartwheel attempt beside the pasta. Most shoppers smile or laugh, charmed by her joy.
But not everyone.One afternoon, as she spun to the faint hum of store music, an older woman stopped and frowned. With a sharp edge in her voice, she scolded, “Your mom should teach you some manners.”Before I could speak, my daughter paused mid-spin, looked up with calm confidence, and replied:“Tell your husband.”