I’m in Starbucks sitting next to a parked baby carriage, the only seat in the house. It’s a little after 8, late for me, so the place is already jumping.
As I sit answering emails, suddenly a little foot appears, like a flag or road sign. I peek in the carriage greeted by who I’m certain, is the Gerber Baby. All smiles, charming as can be, gurgling her little heart out.
Oh, it was a girl alright, in her pale pink smock with a matching bow in her curly brown hair. Now I don’t speak gurgle by any means, but I’m pretty sure she was saying, have you seen my mom, who has yet to reappear.
That does it. I stand up, my indignation in place and scream, “EXCUSE ME, BUT WHOSE BABY IS THIS?”
A little bouncy blonde wiggles over and says, “That’s my baby. That’s my little Carol Ann.”
Steady Susannah. If you smack her there are too many witnesses.
“Well, don’t you think you should be keeping an eye on your little Carol Ann?”
She looks at me as if it never occurred to her, smiling her best veneer smile before wheeling her closer to where she’s talking to a very handsome Latino worker.
Something tells me they weren’t discussing Venti Pumpkin Lattes either. Or maybe her engagement ring, the size of a walnut, hypnotized her, making her forget she even had a baby.
I say good bye to Carole Ann who gurgles back, “Nice knowin ya, and thanks. You know how kids are. Babies having babies.”
“I know Carole Ann, I know.”
A present day Gerber Baby having nothing over Carol Ann.