We do not negotiate with Terrorists!
After a quick shopping trip this morning we returned home. As I was flying solo, Mrs OMG having gone off with a friend, I brought the shopping in and then returned to the car to get Little Miss OMG.
Here is where things went wrong. No sooner was her seatbelt undone. She was out of the seat like a greyhound out of the traps and across to the other side of the car.
A quick run around the outside was in vain. Just left me panting for breath (note to self: you've let yourself go!) The smiling assassin had locked the door and was laughing.
There was nothing left to do, but wonder when a 16 month old had learnt how to lock a car door, and wait it out. She would need me quicker than I would need her. So I thought.
I shortly discovered she has a stubborn streak. I prepared for a long wait. Arming myself with crisps and chocolate I sat down waiting for her to give in.
Nothing! Just laughter. I thought about using the "I'll ring your mother!" threat, but decided to use that for a more serious situation.
Then my two fluorescent vest wearing saviours arrived on their chariot of rubbish. Yes the bin men were here! The squeals of delight and craning of the neck to get a better view, quickly changed to cries and desperation as she realised there was nothing to do but concede defeat.
"Da Da!" She shouted, holding her little hand out.
I smiled. Daddy 1 Little Miss OMG 0 I thought to myself as I lifted her out to watch our bin being emptied.