Pinkster and I have made a pact; she cannot kiss any boy on the lips until her feet stink. And she has to go wash them first while she has a good think about it...
I would say 'not to kiss any boy at all - period' but she is half French so there's the double cheek kissing stuff going on and she has male cousins. She also takes this stuff SO literally.
So during one of those meandering discussions that I get roped into (like the petrol thing) ; Pinkster contorted herself into some sort of advanced Yoga stretch, sniffed her feet, and then asked me why only grown-ups have smelly feet. I told her that when you grow up your feet and your armpits get smelly.
It was bath-time and we'd just been watching Cinderella that ended, as all Disney Princess movies do, with 'the kiss' and 'the wedding'.
The kissing and marrying thing has become another minor obsession, thanks to Walt Disney. (And to think we'd been concerned about Barbie movies).
So she's in the bath chattering away about when she gets 'maaa-ried' and does kissing and I tell her;
"Not until you're grown up, my darling."
"Not until my feet stink?" she asks.
I have to laugh,"And your armpits too," I say.
She giggles and splashes around hunting for the sponge. "I'd better wash my stinky feet first.." she chuckles.
Sometimes we are so in sync with each others thoughts it's scary and both using our 'silly voices' we say pretty much the same thing at the same time:
"No one wants to kiss someone with stinky feet!"
"Or smelly armpits" I add, holding my nose.
Then she cracks up - laughing that laugh that comes right up from her belly and gives her hiccups.
Bath-time is often a kind of hostage negotiation. Nights like this it's a total riot.