My daughter’s friend is an adorable doll-like princess, with a razor-sharp tongue. She isn’t intentionally mean, just observant, and she’s one of those overly-confident first-born children who shares every thought, having been told previously that her every thought was really, really interesting.
She doesn’t mean to be rude.
She doesn’t mean to be bossy.
She doesn’t mean to shame me.
She just does.
That’s how I found myself frantically cleaning my house ahead of an after-school visit by her, hoping to avoid a repeat of her last visit during which the seven-year-old observed that my house was “pretty messy” with “too many toys” and “so much junk food”.