Scooter has finally found something to be enthusiastic about at school: the prospect of a packed lunch. This generates much excitement, especially during the supermarket shopping trip. Suddenly, everything is a possible packed lunch ingredient.
After bedtime, I am summoned upstairs by urgent cries in stereo from Squiggle and Scooter.
It seems that Squiggle desperately needs the matching pink top for the magnetic “dress up” figure. While I am explaining to Squiggle about how a magnetic pink top is not a critical need, there are further desparate howls from the other room.
“What’s the matter, Scooter?”
“Sometimes, the lunchbox isn’t clean in time for morning,” a reference to the fact, that due to lack of dishwasher space, Hub is occasionally obliged to use a reserve lunch box.
“Did you seriously call me up just because you were worried about your lunch box?” I say, not without some with exasperation.
He nods, gravely.