On Saturday night, we made a stop at our favorite local ice cream parlor after my son’s baseball game. My parents were with us, so my dad and my husband claimed a table while my mom and I placed our order. The kids were bouncing back and forth between the table and the ice cream counter while we waited for our order, and meanwhile a studly-looking guy with a goatee and a shaved head sat down in the couch that backed up to our table.
Rebecca, who is 3 going on 6, immediately took notice of this newest patron. I was standing by my mom about 3 yards away when I heard her excited chatter loud and clear, “Gwandaddy! Gwandaddy!” (To my father.) “Dat man doesn’t have any hair! Gwandaddy, look! Dat man! He doesn’t have any hair!”
Now, if I could hear what she was saying at several yards away, I am quite confident that the man sitting a couple feet away overheard her plain as day.
I looked over at him and he had a faintly amused expression on his face, but he never turned around.
Of course my mom and I got a good laugh out of it, but I can’t say I didn’t consider for a moment abandoning the establishment for the sanctuary of my car.