On Saturday EG and I had a late brunch at Boerum Hill Food Company, which is perhaps the only place I’ll miss in our now-old neighborhood, high Bugaboo traffic notwithstanding. We were both seriously dawdling, reluctant to get on with the day and the numerous, onerous, moving-related tasks it held in store. I got a refill on my iced coffee and we stared at the stroller-bound baby gurgling a few feet away, which was stuck in the happiest possible cycle of indecision : should I chew on this plastic buckle, or should I try to put my foot in my mouth? Repeat!
“I wish I could be a baby,” EG said. “Imagine being entertained for hours by a part of your own body.”
I couldn’t resist.
“You know, people say that about you,” I said.
EG laughed — not a, “Hmmpph!”, but a shoulder-shaking, open-mouthed, from-the-gut guffaw.
This is one of the many reasons why all the asshat haters should just STFU.
