A ginger child stole my heart...

My dad has a thing for red-heads (my mother), and I’m guessing it runs in the family because a ginger child has stolen my heart this summer. With fire-ey red hair and freckles, and big brown eyes, he had me at “hewwo”. Actually that’s a lie, it was his first eye-roll that really did it for me. Or perhaps it was when he lost his sixth tooth as he was showing me how loose it was. Who knew a 6 year old could be so charming.

One day he asked if we could have lunch together. He brought a card game called “Whot!” (much like UNO), some pasta, his dad, and fresh blueberries to share. Every day since our first date he climbs on the ledge behind some bushes outside our office window to knock on the glass and wave, smiling his toothless grin.

One day last week he came by and we chatted through the glass. He said he had been to the British Museum and got scared and then sick. “What do you mean you got sick?” I asked. “I threw up, I puked, because I was so scared.” It was the unraveling mummies that did it for him, too much for a 6-year-old.


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