please don't be an asshole when you grow up.
reading my book with my feet propped up on a chair, my regular position to kill any sort of professionalism i would have in the studio, i see this little red mohawk bobbing up and down behind the waiting room chairs. i sit up a little straighter, and i see this little boy staring at me between the chairs. his mom is standing behind him, and of course, she's the coolest mom on the block.
i start laughing.
"yeah, he asked for it for his birthday," she says as she walks up. i recognize her and say hi, how's it goin, been a while since you've been in. i can hardly believe that they remember me and are thanking someone that i'm working tonight, because "no one gets his smile like you do."
this two year old little thing comes running out, squealing.
we get back into the camera room, and he flirts insatiably while we're playing the games that we play while i'm doing backflips to get these kids to smile. he keeps asking to go play skee-ball, and his parents tell him, "after miss lindsay takes your picture."
we're out at the sales table, and he runs up to me and starts to "play drums" on my leg, giggling ferociously.
finally, we're at the register, and he's playing at the activity table. he looks up at me and says, "hot date?"
oh my god, i could not control my laughter. his dad is snickering, and his mom is smiling too.
as they're leaving, i wish the littlest punk rocker a happy birthday. and he runs up to me, arms wide, "mith linthy, tank you!" and he hugs and hugs and hugs as though he'll never see another depressed redhead in his life.
these are the ones, those great big souls trapped in itty bitty bodies, who make me think, "it won't be so bad at work today."
