Even as a three year old I knew it was a screw-up. I had wanted a little sister, mom and dad had wanted another baby, gender irrelevant, but there were problems so they decided to adopt.
Naturally they involved me in the discussions and we agreed it should be a little girl.
And so dad trotted off to the Adopt-A-Shop, did some sums on his pocket calculator, and came home with a dragon.
“A dragon?” screamed mum.
Dad was a bit sheepish. “It looked so cute,” he argued. “And it was the only dragon in the place. It looked so lonely, so pathetic.”
Mum was hopping up and down in frustration, “We agreed a little girl. Not some sort of scaly mythological cigarette lighter.”
The creature grinned and emitted a puff of smoke and a small lick of flame. “Hey, that’s funny,” it said, “Although maybe not that original.”
“Mouthy, eh, a bleeding mouthy dragon, is that what we’ve got here? A mouthy dragon!” snarled mum.
“It’s so cute,” said dad.
“I love you, mummy,” said the dragon, “You’re my best mummy.”
She hates being called mummy, and she had the carving knife in her hand.
“Damaged goods,” said the Adopt-A-Shop assistant. “No refund.”
Actually, it’s great being an only child.
This in response to the Sunday Photo Fiction’s 200 word picture challenge.