<div class="floatleft">(https://list.lisimg.com/image/9863934/300full.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Celeste Sinclair<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>June 3, morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Grocery store<br/><strong>Mood:</strong>Nervous<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Mommy<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Celeste only meant to<em>tap</em>the cart against Erin's side, just enough to get her attention. A brush of steel on hip. That's all. She wasn't some bratty little girl who'd ever dare bump the cart against her Mommy with the intention of annoying her. Certainly never to hurt. Just an innocent little taptap to let it be known that she was done here and wanted to go home!<br/><br/>Only, the look that her little tap spawned on Mommy's face immediately suggested to Celeste that maybe she'd miscalculated. Her own jaw tightened, eyes widening a little. She backed the cart up a few inches, away from Erin's body. As if moving backward might also move her backward in time, to the moment before she decided to brush the cart up against her Mommy's hip. It didn't work. That dangerous look remained plastered across Erin's face.<br/><br/>Celeste shrank down a little on her side of the car then. Lowered her head and chewed her lip. She squirmed, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Put her index finger up to her lips, started to chew the nail. She saw the way Erin's eyes lingered on the three boxes; she knew now that that had been a mistake too.<br/><br/>"They're cereal!" She protested, voice squeaky and defensive. Then, a little softer, more of grumble, she added. "They're not treats. They're breakfast."