When T and I make our monthly income transfer at Target, we roam the store like a couple of unsupervised kids. We check out the canning supplies and the garden section. I like to look at linens and scarves and she tolerates this nonsense. Invariably we pass by a display with those horrible produced music CDs. At that moment, T snaps to life, scanning the display for the most dreadful of the selections. At our last trip, she stopped before the display, announced that she hated kid's music and then quickly pressed the button to play said kid's music.
It says a lot about me that I find this charming.