We are at the checkout in Morrisons. Bernard has been well-behaved, as usual; he likes shopping trips because he can sit in the trolley and boss me about. Like some OLIVES, mama! Luckily he can’t reach the shelves, as long as I’m careful.
Usually he makes eyes at the cashier. Today he is distracted by a little girl, about his age, parked beside us in a stroller while her parents unload economy white bread on to the belt. She has big gold hoop earrings, bare feet (it is 10 degrees here), and is dressed from head to knee in filthy, filthy pink clothing. Such a very dirty little girl, with an enormous smile.
Bernard and pink gypsy child play that game of catching each other’s eye, giggling, and looking away. He is blushing bright red. He is quite clearly in love.
I pay for the shopping and leave. He will never see her again. Not if I have anything to do with it.
Such a shame that they closed down POTW just as you were on the cusp of winning it.
Heh. Just one more reason I shall keep shopping in Waitrose.
Bless them though – it’s sweet that they have none of our grown up prejudice. I mean, there is no way on Earth I could allow Toby to have a relationship with someone who liked olives! Bleurgh!
Well, if you will shop at Morrisons, what do you expect? T had a bit of a thing going on with the fishmonger in Tesco this week…at least B’s friends are age-appropriate.