I was standing in line at Wegman's forever, apparently not having learned my lesson about blonde checkout girls and their lack of work ethic. Ten minutes in, I had resolved to not throw the Requisite Fit. Fifteen minutes in, I was successfully distracting myself with Mars bars and thoughts of Batman. At twenty minutes I was singing "Brand New Colony" semi-out-loud, looking like a wacko, but not caring and holding firm.
At the second heartfelt "Oooh-ooooooh" I met the gaze of a neighboring toddler and stopped short.
Good lord, she has white hair and violet eyes. So help me god, she has violet eyes.
Not in the Easter Bunny sense. Not even in the scary albino serial killer sense. But in the "oh-mum-Shiva, swallow your soul" sense.
And she was having none of me.
It could have been my blatant, animal fear that put her off.
But we've finally come to it. When the little daemons no longer keep to their designated hiding spots, but sit in the open, sizing us up and kicking their feet against shopping cart booster seats. Bold and smug and daring you to point them out.
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