Charger One and Charger Two

They call me the charger I told white string haughtily. Then who am I? White string asked. Sticking up her aluminum cubed nose, Refusing to be plugged into my adaptor. "Daddy calls Mommy the charger!" Sadie defended me. Sadie is four, and I am her she-roe, teaching her the art of charging. "I call her that!" My mother-in-law agrees from the backseat, where she prefers to sit, where it is "safe" according to her own snootiness. I want to take my daughter and run back into the store and charge more stuff now, feeling slightly irritated. Charging always puts me into a much better mood. It's like not paying, rather like stealing as I never see the bills. My husband pays them after grousing unmercifully about them. "I am the charger or I am not going to be plugged in today," Charger One says. I rapidly realize I am surrounded by enemies here, so I back down and say, "You can be Charger One, and I will be Charger Two, okay?" Darling One from the backseat calls out, "Lunch is on me. Let's go to McFrizbee's," making her now the ultimate favorite in my Sadie's world. Assuming she will be using plastic, she has slyly snagged the Charger 2 position. I am livid.