This past weekend was incredibly nice, so on Sunday I made the executive decision to pack up a picnic lunch gleaned from the morning market, grab the dogs and husby and head for Inverleith Park, where we all happily settled down in the sun (well, most of us. Molly spotted another dog and tried to follow it home at one point). As the lazy afternoon headed for evening, we began to think about going home, but then we saw what I have decided is one of the cutest children on the planet. She was climbing the hill with her grandfather (I think), and the minute she spotted the dogs, her little face lit up and over she came. She was maybe three years old, with red hair, a lovely little face, wearing a flowered sundress. And she had the Scottish accent, which is wonderful enough in an adult, but in an already adorable kid? Man. It's like that Dana Carvey bit where he talks about his kids suddenly coming out with something so cute you're completely disarmed, like Superman on kriptonite.
"Helloooo," she said to my dogs. "Are you nice?" She barely waited for an answer before marching up to Molly, kissing her on the head, taking her leash, and attempting to walk off with her. And I was so disarmed by the wave of cute I nearly let her. Fortunately, her grandfather has AdorImmunity, so he stepped in and she contented herself with patting the dogs, observing that Molly's bigger than Missy, and ordering Molly to take care of "That doggy, and that man, and that lady." Dear God. I guess you had to be there, but man, did I want one of those.
And then I realized that, if my husband and I have any kids here, they'll sound exactly like that, and I will be completely and utterly hopeless.
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