Even cranks get thirsty.
Because of the way our grocery store is laid out, Paul and I usually end up marching down the baby aisle on our way to the checkout stands. (Sometimes, depending on my mood, it is an amble; sometimes it is a grim and speedy goose-step.) Today as I pushed the cart past a woman inspecting jarred baby food, I was ambushed by the wide and toothless grin of a baby girl seated in the woman's cart, almost hairless, wearing pink.
I realize I'm jeopardizing my status as an infertile crank by confessing that the sight of her delighted me. It didn't make me sad, didn't make me jealous it only made me laugh in surprise at seeing such a happy face on such a tiny person. It was enchanting.
I said to Paul, "You have to admit she's cute."
"Oh, yeah," said Paul, who is normally immune to the wiles of tiny people, whom he calls loinfruit. "Cuter than the kitten when he fetches."
But I must be an infertile crank after all, because when we turned the corner and saw the display of 8-ounce cans of caffeine-free Diet Pepsi, Paul and I fervently agreed that the pony cans were much cuter than even that happy baby.