I’m standing in line at Panera, a father and one whiny kid in front of me, screaming because she can’t have a lollipop the size of Montana at 7 in the morning.
My ears in peril, I decide to intervene. I say to little Damea, “you know what…I think I have something for you,” reaching into my trusty, old Kate Spade, producing a more modest lolli from the bottom of its depths, lolling like a sugary lifeboat.
I look at the dad for approval. He nods.
“You can save this for later,”I say, like Nana in Peter Pan, if she could talk that is…and dad says,
“You’re so nice…are you on medication?”
Now there’s a thought.