She wants to stay up to see if the wolf will bring the sun back.
A good wolf would, she insists. And it's not like I can argue with her there. It's lesson number one around here, no matter how weird her extended pack is. Never let anyone tell you that raised by wolves is an insult.
"Look, Pupcake, we can wake you up real early and it'll be almost the same, right? You don't have to try to stay up all night."
I don't know where she got that glare from. Maybe Sandra. I'll have to ask Mom. "They get to go out."
We're not quite at the developmental stage where I can even explain which part of that is the most ridiculous, when I did let her have some of Cecily's glitter for her hair when she asked. When Millennials parent, Max murmurs.
"All right for you, Grampula, maybe you noticed that I don't get to go out clubbing either."
Trev's pleading look says that he'd happily, happily stay home with her if he thought he could get away with it, or get the eyeliner off by himself either. "We'll wake you both when we get back in," he promises, with an expression to say that if he has anything to do with it that'll be in about an hour. There's more honking from down in the street, and a moment later Trev frowns and pulls out his phone; "-- She 'has her dancing feet on'," he reports, and gloomily lets himself be herded towards the door to the horrible fate of a night out of dinner, dancing, and dinner. I hope it goes okay, Cecily's looking a little eager.
Oh, well, there's always midnight mass and Chinese to look forward to, if nobody's on the run by then, and we can bring the Pup to that. I sigh and go to fetch her a bedtimey book: "Okay, so, which do you want, 'Goodnight Moon', or 'Go The Fuck To Sleep', huh? Please?"