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I was after steaks but I found play. It grabbed me by the eyeballs as I navigated to the butcher’s counter in the back of the store:
All 28 months of her sat nestled in the back of a shopping cart between fresh vegetables, paper towels, and juice boxes as her mother pushed it down the baking isle.
An enthusiastic ponytail bounced atop her head as it swayed from side to side.
Sounds accelerated from her mouth “rrrRRRRRRooooooommmmMMMM”, “SCQUUUUUUUUUUUU”, “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzoooooozzzzzzzzzmmmmmm”.
Her eyes darted in all directions as she eyed the store’s cart and pedestrian traffic.
Her hands and wrists twisted themselves in knots as she spun the imaginary steering wheel to the left, to the left, to the left, and then sharply RIGHT.
Her feet pumped imaginary gas and break pedals–as well as an unfortunately placed loaf of bread.
We were on a collision course as her Mom stopped to ponder powdered sugar. As the observant driver’s eyes locked with mine, I grabbed my imaginary steering wheel, spun it hard to the right to avoid a head on collision, shot her a knowing smile, and sped past with a low rumble in my throat–“RRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrraooommmm”.