Least favourite conversation of the week...

It's bedtime, and I'm putting on Little Miss' pyjamas when she asks:

"What are those, Mummy?" she says, pointing to my face.
"What are you looking at?" I say
"Those," she says, pointing at my forehead.

I look at her perplexed until I realise... she is pointing at my wrinkles...

"Oh, you mean these?" I say, pointing to the deep furrows on my forehead which I happily ignore most of the time...

"Yes," affirms Little Miss
"They're wrinkles," I say, not particularly enjoying the way this conversation is going...

"Have I got wrinkles?"
"No, you're too young for wrinkles."
"Has Duke got wrinkles?"
"No, he's too little too."
"When will I get wrinkles?"
"When you're thirty-seven."
"Am I thirty-seven?"
"No, you're three."
"Are you thirty-seven?"
"Yes I am."
"When will I be thirty-seven?"
"Not for a long, long, LONG time my dear."


Part II

We're driving in the car...

"Mummy, why are you cross?"
"I'm not cross, poppet! Why do you think I'm cross?"
"You look cross."
"Oh, do you mean because I'm doing this?" I say, pointing (again) to my furrowed brows
"Yes"
"I'm not cross poppet, I'm just concentrating."
"Why are you 'trating?"
"Because I'm driving."
"Why are you 'trating while you're driving?"
"I'm con-cen-trating so that we don't get lost."
"Are we lost?"
"No, we're not lost because I am concentrating!"
"But you're not cross."
"No," I sigh inwardly, "I'm not cross poppet."

Anyone fancy recommending a wrinkle-erasing cream?