(When my son is eight, our family goes to a certain theme park with a mouse mascot. We have long had the rule that when we’re at amusement parks, one souvenir may be picked and it must wait to be picked up at the end of the day; for this trip, the former is amended to “one souvenir per park segment.” One day, my son picks out a hand-sized plush of a certain alien character and while he’s clearly eager to take it home, he patiently waits while enjoying all the rides and attractions we go on. After picking up his older sister’s souvenir, we head for the exit near the cart where he spots the plush and walks up to the staff member manning it. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that there aren’t any of the small plushes out anymore, but we ask the staff member anyway.)
Me: “Excuse me; do you have any of the small [Character] plushes left?”
Staff Member: “Sorry; they’re all gone.”
(My son looks absolutely heartbroken but doesn’t complain. We start to leave, but then I stop us and turn to my husband.)
Me: “We’re getting him the next size up.”
(We did, indeed, get him the next size up of the plush, and he still has it to this day.)
From Not Always Right :
(When my son is eight, our family goes to a certain theme park with a mouse mascot. We have long had the rule that when we’re at amusement parks, one souvenir may be picked and it must wait to be picked up at the end of the day; for this trip, the former is amended to “one souvenir per park segment.” One day, my son picks out a hand-sized plush of a certain alien character and while he’s clearly eager to take it home, he patiently waits while enjoying all the rides and attractions we go on. After picking up his older sister’s souvenir, we head for the exit near the cart where he spots the plush and walks up to the staff member manning it. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that there aren’t any of the small plushes out anymore, but we ask the staff member anyway.)
Me: “Excuse me; do you have any of the small [Character] plushes left?”
Staff Member: “Sorry; they’re all gone.”
(My son looks absolutely heartbroken but doesn’t complain. We start to leave, but then I stop us and turn to my husband.)
Me: “We’re getting him the next size up.”
(We did, indeed, get him the next size up of the plush, and he still has it to this day.)