Last night, I went to the bookstore to kill some time and spend some money. As always, I ended up in the baby section.  I was actually looking for a book for my niece, no really! And I couldn’t find it.  I drifted around the corner and down to the end section, where they have the fertility and adoption and ART books.  I scooched down to look closer, when I was literally knocked over from behind.  I steadied myself by putting my hands on the floor, and I turned around to see who had whacked into me with such force.  A flash of brown flew by, stopped, and turned around.  A toddler, probably not even two, was grinning at me, drooling, looking straight into my eyes.

His father was right behind him, "Sorry! I’m sorry!" and I just waved my hand, "No worries, ‘sokay."  I almost burst into tears on the spot.  I mean, getting physically pushed away from the paranoia section, by a BABY, at almost 9 pm?

That is TOTALLY a sign.

Other than that, my ham sandwich tasted icky two nights ago, but no one else complained.  It tasted, dare I say it?

Metallic. 

Let the obsession begin. Or, try to not obsess. Whatever.