Trudging home, holding on to things including a much obliging UPS man whose chivalry gets me across the street, there’s a man holding a little girl trying to get inside his snow-covered car.
“Will you hold my baby?”
Next thing I know, I have a little bundle wrapped in white, wiggling in my arms as if to say, this is highly unusual, isn’t it.
I watch him scrape the windshield, shaving piles of snow off the trunk, after turning the heat on in what looks like a maroon Subaru, while this tiny being, good-naturedly stays patiently nestled.
“This is your first snow I’ll bet?” Striking up a conversation.
She cooed, as if to say, “Yeah, isn’t it something? If I had school, I wouldn’t have to go, right?”
As I’m penning my essay in my half frozen head, her tiny nose starts running. Oh dear. Need to do something, quick. No lady should have a runny nose in public, at least not where I come from.
I reach for a Starbucks napkin in my Barbour pocket, placing it on her nose, and like any good surrogate mom say, “blow,” which she sort of does, before breaking into a sunny smile.
“Thanks,” dad says, as he retrieves her from my arms.