Your daddy was making your dinner in the kitchen while you were sat in the lounge room, colouring him a picture and watching cartoons. As you colour you hum softly, your paci sitting in your mouth and a stuffy in your lap. You're content. After about 30 minutes you hear you daddys footsteps as he enters the living room. "Princess dinners ready." He says, coming around towards you. You know this means you'll have to go in the highchair and you can't help but pout. You shake you head in protest.