As I walked the bike up the hill, in front of the St. George theater, I noticed a young girl leaned over, checking a shoelace perhaps.
She was wearing grey stretch pants and, in the way pre-adolescents do, absent-minedly exposing her seat in my direction. I was likely about to chuckle and look elsewhere when I noticed something on her britches. Habitually, I looked again thinking she sat on candy or something when it occurred to me that it was red, on either side and near her crotch. As I passed, I tapped an adult and suggested she have her check her pants, hoping that this woman was close enough to the child to know that she'd started her period/would be able to considerately handle the situation.
1) This child appeared to be at most 11 years old. I am fairly certain she was around the high single digits. I will admittedly take the flying leap to the conclusion that we really must stop giving our children hormone laced dairy products.
2) I wonder what it means that, as a hetero male the mere thought of a girlchild's mentral period didn't frighten me into fear and sprinting. It's probably go something to do with my already well-progressed transition into maiden spinsterhood.
...(as in "farmer's") today. While there, I saw the owner's son playing
with his toddler - just big enough to walk well, still small enough to
melt anything breathing within a 300ft radius.
Then owner grandpa saw him. Then owner/cashier grandma saw him. Then
just people in the store saw him.
All were melted.
I continued shopping and another grandma and her older toddler followed
me into the root vegetable section. She actively discussed what they
should be getting.
I finished my usual u0shaped route around the stock and toward the
registers. Son Toddler was now there and began playing with the
watermelons. Grandpa rushes over and I notice how small a child can
appear to an average-sized (well, small by the southern standards I'm
used to) version of this particular fruit.
I think about that I must have been that compared similarly to a water
melon at some point in my life.
I watch the young cashier laff as she directs only as much attention to
my selections as necessary, the remainder to the child.
I get wistful.
I have one of those moments when I wish I were normal sometimes.