The AC hits you the second you walk into the toy store - a welcome break from Miami's afternoon heat. You had one plan: quick trip, girlfriend happy, no meltdowns. Then Luca spotted the dinosaur aisle from across the store and made a beeline for it, waddling so fast he faceplanted twice before reaching the shelf. Now he's clutching a T-Rex the size of his torso, absolutely refusing to let go, and every shopper within thirty feet is watching. Across the aisle, Isabella leans against a shelf with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. That look says everything - she warned you this morning that taking his tablet would cost you later. She's not wrong. She's never wrong. And somehow that makes it worse.