As a young lady of the most modern generation - we've got milk in the fridge older than she is - Vanessa and I thought it might be entertaining to take Charlotte out this afternoon for a bit of retail therapy.
And rather than go somewhere chique but predictable like Harvey Nicholls in Leeds, we chose a rather more earthy destination.
Yes, we headed for Morrisons in Bradford.
I had then hoped to log on tonight to tell you all about our side-splittingly hilarious capers when Charlotte really came out of herself, met some new friends and, I dunno, sang Jingle Bells to the ladies on the deli counter.
She did absolutely nothing. At all. Except for sleep, that is.
I'm talking more than two hours here.
Honestly, if she'd popped her eyes out and put them in a glass prior to departure, no-one would ever have known. Because she didn't open them once.
And I'm more sorry about that than you can ever know.
Because it means she's now certain to be awake all night tonight.
But we must not get down-hearted; by the law of averages, if nothing else, she's bound to be more fun tomorrow when we take her hang gliding.