Clown Feet

The girl and I were walking home from the worst grocery store ever (that would be the Woolworth's in Spring Hill), and I told her that I could probably get a job as a clown.

Let me explain. Just a half hour before, we were standing in an excruciating line at the aforementioned grocery store and I looked in front of me and there was a little girl, probably less than a year, belted into the kart trolley with a huge smile on her face. She was looking right at me. Well of course now I had to engage and keep her attention for the next five minutes while we moved less than an inch a minute. She was cute and it was fun.

Yesterday, the girl and I were walking through what is called the Brunswick St. Markets and I was minding my own business when I caught the eye of a toddler in his mothers arms. He stared. "What's he looking at?" I asked Meredith.

"You. Kids always look at you like that."

"But I'm not doin' anything."

"You don't have to."

This brings me back to today's walk home.

"Maybe I could get a job as a clown," I said out of nowhere.

"Because your feet are so big?"

Thanks. No, because I can make kids smile. Dammit.