So we were walking the dogs downstairs yesterday evening at a time when the kids are out to play. One toddler who couldn't have been more than five years old was riding his tricycle on the path. He stopped when he came up behind Queeni. He paused to consider what to do next. Which was: he imperiously told L to "move the dog", so that he could cycle on.
L, of course, got into a snit at being told what to do by a stranger toddler and let Queeni do whatever she wanted -- which really was to take her time and sniff at everything. Toddler back-pedalled back to Mummy and complained loudly. L loudly declaimed about brats. Mummy kept quiet and looked away.
In a couple of years, Toddler will start primary school. Maybe being in a class of 30 will make him realise he's not the only person on earth -- okay, so he's a kid; but I've met really nice kids who knew they were not the centre of the universe. And my taxes will be subsidising his school fees. Maybe then I can tell him to move off the path.