You know that old saw about the way to a man’s heart? It’s apparently true, and hard-wired from birth.
I saw it in action this morning with two toddlers during the coffee hour at church.
She wandered the hall in her beautiful dress, tip-toeing in her Mary Janes with their satin bows, one hand firmly clutching a travel container of Cheerios.
She dipped into them from time to time, but mostly seemed content to simply hold fast to the container’s handle. She didn’t stop to talk or play — it was clear she was very busy making circuits of the room. I’d say she was about 18 months old. Basil would say we were watching that final rev of energy before her midday nap.
She was not alone.
Following her, in his dapper sweater and brown corduroys, was a fellow about her age.
He hugged her, patted her, held her, wouldn’t let her out of his sight.
It was very cute, and if you watched for a bit, you noticed that while he was fussing with the bow in her hair or had one hand on her shoulder, with the other, he was trying to cop a feel … of the contents of that Cheerio bowl.