Mrs Magooty. That's an interesting name.
Here's a story about it.
When I was little, my Granny and Grandpa lived in my house. On the bottom floor, they had their own living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Out on the patio was my Grandpa's studio. It was actually a falling-to-bits portacabin, but he insisted all should refer to it as his studio. It was in here he painted and made beautiful frames for his exquisite watercolours. In a small corner, he had put together a strip of switches and dials (from broken appliances) for me to pretend was my space rocket.
My Grandpa was a special sort of person and I was very fortunate to be his grandchild.
The studio was a bit cold and leaky on a rainy day, so back indoors, their flat was full of trinkets and boxes and bells with pixies on and other treasure. And it was with this that I regularly played a game of shops.
As with most 4 year olds, the routine was everything. After breakfast, I would go round their room collecting all the ornaments and arrange them under the dining table. Not the most convenient place for grownups, but perfect for a little human like me. And it also meant that if something important was happening on the table top, my shop could stay open underneath regardless. Good business sense!