You are the worst costume maker in the world. You promised whoever wears the costume will turn into a tiger.

You lied.

I love tigers. Their black stripes and orange fur are so beautiful. For World Book Day today, I wanted to be The Tiger Who Came to Tea. Daddy bought the outfit, so Mummy didn’t have to. Daddy says she does a lot, such as sorting my swimming lessons, making sure Preschool understands I’m allergic to peanuts, and spending ages talking to the teachers before taking me home. Once, she said to Mrs Barnes, “How can you wait for him to show interest in reading and writing before teaching him? What am I paying you for?” Daddy always tells Mummy she’s not in Singapore anymore, she’s being too strict and kiasu, she shouldn’t make me do the exercises in those Singaporean English and Maths books. They’re for seven-year-olds and I’m only four. Daddy says I should be running around in the playground, not made to sit, crying, at the desk.

This morning, Daddy helped me put on my costume. He pulled hard on the zip because it was so tight—”so that you’ll become a little tiger!” Daddy said. And I really thought I’d become one. I had a tail, fur all over my body, and a tiger head hoodie. I wanted it to cover my face, but Daddy said you couldn’t do that for health and safety reasons. Something about how I’d suff… foh… caik? Don’t tell Mummy I can’t remember the word. She’d tell me off.

When Mummy saw me, she smiled so wide, it was even bigger than my face. She squatted, rubbed my fur, squeezed my tiger paws, and said, “You’re so cute, my little tiger cub!” She said she was glad I wasn’t going as Batman or Spiderman because comic books weren’t real books. She said how nice that I was lit… tuh… rut? Mummy likes to teach me her long words, but I don’t always remember. I try to, because it upsets her when I don’t. Mrs Barnes says I’m smart for my age, but Mummy says I should aim higher. I don’t know how to do that since I’m only little.

Anyway, at Preschool, Anna and Lily and Sreya screamed and ran away when I roared at them. But now, I think they were joking because your costume stopped working when I got home. Mummy told me to change, but I said no, I wanted to be the tiger who came to tea, and I hadn’t had my tea yet! Mummy put her hands on her waist and said, “If only you cared this much about your spelling! Spell ‘tiger’ and you get to keep it on.” I knew only the first letter, so she said, in that grumpy tone I hate, “Take it off. Now!” I stomped and shouted “no!” so hard, my throat hurt. Mummy yelled, “If you don’t take it off right now, you’re not getting your goodnight story!” I love my goodnight story with her, so that made me cry really loudly.

If you hadn’t lied about the costume, the next bit wouldn’t have happened. I turned to run up the stairs, but I couldn’t because Mummy was pulling my tail. Mrs Barnes said big cats like tigers and lions are much stronger than humans. This means tigers can eat mums. I growled and showed Mummy my tiger teeth and used all my tiger strength to free myself.

Suddenly, I hit my forehead on a step. When I touched where it hurt, my fingers were red. I cried “Mummy!” but all she did was wave my tail and shout, “Look what you made me do!” She pulled me to the bathroom, wiped my forehead with something that made it sting, and said, “Stop crying. It’s just a small cut.”

But it didn’t feel small. It felt like it covered my whole head. I cried all the way to my room. “No goodnight story for you. Next time, you listen!” Mummy said, before closing door with a bang.

See, I didn’t turn into a tiger after all. Mummy wasn’t scared when I growled, and I wasn’t more powerful than her. If your poo-poo costume had worked, I would’ve been the tiger who came to tea, which was all I wanted today. But I’m going to bed crying, without my goodnight story, with my forehead cut open.

I’ll never wear another costume from you again, poo-poo man.