Jake leaned against the front door frame, arms crossed as he checked the time on his watch. His usual composed expression softened with the slightest hint of amusement—and maybe just a little bit of exasperation. Grocery shopping. That’s all this was supposed to be. A quick run, in and out. But here he was, waiting in the foyer like he was about to walk a red carpet, except the show's real star hadn’t even made her entrance yet.
The distant sound of your voice floated down the hall.
“I know, baby, but you can’t wear all the tutus.”
A high-pitched whine followed.
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a chuckle. His daughter—his bossy baby—was already making demands before she had even stepped foot outside. Like mother, like daughter.
And then, finally, the moment came.
You emerged, holding your toddler’s tiny hand. She waddled beside you, her pink tutu bouncing with every determined little step she took. Her chubby cheeks were slightly flushed, her dark lashes still heavy from sleep, and her messy baby hairs framed her face like a crown.
Your daughter blinked up at him, completely unaware of the sheer ridiculousness of her outfit. A complete, fluffy pink tutu, glittery socks that barely stayed up, and a matching pink cardigan with a bunny embroidered on the pocket. She looked like a tiny ballerina who had just rolled out of bed and decided today was her day.
“She refused to get out of bed without it,” you sighed, adjusting the packaged diaper bag slung over your shoulder. “She threw a fit, Yunie. You know how she gets.”
Jake exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking between the two of you: his exhausted but beautiful wife and his daughter, who looked like she had just stumbled onto the set of a ballet recital but had no clue what was happening.
“Sweetie, do you even know where we’re going?” he asked, crouching slightly to meet her big, sleepy eyes.
His daughter sucked on her thumb for a second, deep in thought, before deciding it didn’t matter. Instead, she toddled forward and wrapped her arms around his leg.
That was it. That was the final order.
Jake sighed dramatically, though his lips twitched as he bent down to scoop her into his arms. Her tiny hands fisted his blazer, her cheek pressing against his shoulder, and he felt her let out the most minor, sleepiest sigh.
“Bossy little baby,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.
You grinned, stepping closer to adjust her tutu so it didn’t get squished in his hold. “Well, what do you expect? She’s your daughter.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but how he held her—gentle, firm, completely wrapped around her little finger—told you he wouldn’t have it any other way.
With a resigned sigh, he shifted his daughter comfortably in one arm, then reached for your hand with the other.
“Alright, princess. Let’s go get some groceries.”
And just like that, the Sim family exited the door.
The drive to the grocery store was mostly quiet, except for the occasional backseat babbling. Jake glanced at the rearview mirror, watching his daughter absentmindedly gnaw on her milk bottle, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She was oblivious to how ridiculous she looked, pink tutu fluffing around her tiny legs like she was heading to a gala rather than a supermarket.
Conversely, you were scrolling through your phone, double-checking the grocery list you’d made.
“You know,” Jake started, lazily resting one hand on the steering wheel while his other tapped against the gear shift, “we could’ve just left her at home with my mom.”
A scoff left your lips as you turned to him. “She would’ve burned the house down.”
Jake let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “She’s a toddler, not a monster.”
“She’s our toddler, Yunie. She was ready to throw hands over a tutu.”
At that, he gave a single nod. Fair point.
From the backseat, a soft whine.
“Pink,” your daughter mumbled as if offended that she wasn’t included in the conversation about her beloved outfit.
Jake sighed, flicking on the turn signal as he pulled into the grocery store parking lot. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Tutu supremacy.”
When you unbuckled her from the car seat, she reached out for her dad again. “Up, up.”
Jake gave you a look. “You walked to the car by yourself.”
She blinked, utterly unbothered. “Daddy, up up.”
He scoffed, but there was no real fight in him. Jake wasn’t not going to carry her. So, with a deep sigh—his signature chill but entirely at her mercy Dad moved—he hoisted her onto his hip.
With one arm securely wrapped around his tiny dictator, he grabbed a shopping cart and nodded for you to lead the way inside.
The moment you stepped into the store, your daughter perked up.
Her sleepy haze was gone.
Now, she was pointing at everything—bright-coloured cereal boxes, neatly stacked fruits, random strangers who weren’t paying attention to her but who she seemed to think needed her approval.
You reached for a pack of strawberries, tossing them into the cart. “Yunie, can you grab—”
Before you could even finish, Jake sighed. “Yeah, I got it.”
He knew. He always knew. You needed milk. It was an unspoken rule in your household that there had to be at least two cartons in the fridge at all times, and after years of grocery runs together, he was already making his way toward the dairy aisle like it was second nature.
You watched him go, but your daughter latched onto him, babbling about absolutely nothing.
She wiggled in Jake’s arms, her chubby hands smacking against his chest.
She pointed dramatically to the pinkiest thing she could see—a massive display of Hello Kitty snacks, cookies, and juice boxes.
Jake looked at the shelves, then at you, then back at his daughter, who was practically vibrating in his arms.
“You don’t even *know* what that is,” he deadpanned.
She was unbothered. “It’s pink.”
You bit back a laugh, giving him a knowing smirk. “She makes a solid argument.”
Jake stared at you, then at the display, and then at his daughter, who was now blinking at him with those big, round, pleading eyes.
“…You’re killing me,” he muttered under his breath before grabbing a pack of pink Hello Kitty cookies and tossing them into the cart.
Your daughter clapped her hands in victory. “Pink tutu and cookies!”
“Unbelievable,” Jake groaned, but there was no real bite. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple before sighing dramatically. “What have I gotten myself into?”
You grinned, leaning in to peck his cheek. “Welcome to fatherhood, love.”
And just like that, Jake accepted his fate—wrapped around the little finger of his tiny, bossy ballerina, pink tutu and all.
As the grocery run continued, Jake found himself trapped in what could only be described as a pink-fueled hostage situation.
Your daughter, still securely in his arms, had taken complete control. Jake obeyed every aisle she pointed at. He sighed before grabbing every snack she eyed. You, meanwhile, were watching it all unfold with barely contained amusement.
“Yunie, she doesn’t need that many cookies,” you murmured, crossing your arms as you eyed the growing collection of pink-themed snacks in the cart.
Jake, looking thoroughly exhausted despite it only being twenty minutes into the trip, ran a hand through his hair. "Tell her that.”
You turned to your daughter, who was now happily snacking on a teething biscuit you had packed. She blinked at you, completely innocent—except she wasn’t. You knew that tiny brain of hers was already scheming.
“Sweetheart,” you said gently, tucking a stray baby hair behind her ear. “We’re only getting one treat today, okay?”
She considered your words for a moment, tilting her head. Then, slowly, she turned back to Jake and, in the softest, most manipulative voice possible, mumbled:
You nearly snorted. Oh, she knew what she was doing.
Jake stared at her like he was fighting for his life. “Don’t daddy me,” he warned, shifting her in his arms.
She reached up, patting his cheek with her tiny hand. Then—the move that sealed his fate forever—she rested her head against his shoulder and nuzzled into him.
You swore you saw your husband malfunction on the spot.
His shoulders tensed, his grip on the cart tightened, and he let out a long, suffering sigh. Then, without a single word, he grabbed a second pack of cookies and tossed it into the cart.
You gaped at him. “JAKE.”
“She’s—” He gestured wildly to the tiny human in his arms, now humming happily like she hadn’t just emotionally manipulated her father. “She’s so small! How does she have this much power?”
You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore, shaking your head as you pushed the cart toward the checkout.
Wondered what your favourite snack or that one candy/chocolate/chips, you'd whine for your parents to buy it for you? I remembered mine was Caramilk chocolate or Caramel Candy Apples!
