No tarts allowed

I have been cleaning, organizing, and rearranging the house in the last couple of weeks.  I feel the need to have a less-cluttered and more simplified home.  I have a feeling that won't happen in this decade, but I can always dream.

As a result of the rearranging, some things are getting the boot and some things are going in new places.  I have an old makeup table that was being used for pure decoration in the living room, and I decided to give it to Lottie to replace her old, pink, plastic Ariel makeup table.  As she is quick to remind us, she is almost five, you know.  She seemed excited about having the new furniture until she realized that makeup didn't come with it.  Trevor and I both tried to explain that four year-olds don't wear makeup, unless they're on Toddlers and Tiaras, and that she would get makeup when she got older.  She wasn't willing to accept that: shocking.  She ran into her room sobbing while Trevor and I tried not to laugh too loudly.  She flung herself down at the dreaded table and cried with her head in her arms.  When she finally came out, red-eyed and pouty, she told Trevor that she wasn't going to call it a makeup table anymore because she didn't have any makeup.  Instead, she was going to call it the crying table.  

If this is four, what are we in for when she's sixteen?  I shudder at the thought.