Miss Ruby is obsessed with the Big, Bad Wolf. Seriously - she talks about him constantly, although not through fear, it's more just a morbid fascination. It started about a year ago, when on our many walks home from nursery, she would routinely and, if I'm honest, slightly unnervingly, assure me that "the Big, Bad Wolf is coming." What started as a way of ensuring I quicken my pace has turned into a game that we play 876 times a day on average - I am often cast in the BBW role, huffing and puffing and trying to second guess what her makeshift house is made from. Today, we were reading her second favourite book - The Good Little Wolf (her first choice? Little Red Riding Hood, obvs), when I asked her what the difference was between Rolph, the good little wolf, and the Big, Bad Wolf. She looked at me as if I were an alien before replying, somberly:
"Mummy, the Big, Bad Wolf is DANGEROUS. You must not touch him."
Like I needed any more convincing to keep my distance.
