So I just realized I've blogged maybe ten times this entire month. This fact horrifies me. So now I will overcompensate with another random memory.
I loved everything about London. The one thing I didn't love about it was leaving. And not because Ryan and I had to stand in line for nearly two hours just to check our luggage or wait another hour just to board the plane. I didn't want to leave because of the impression that gorgeous city left on me. As Ryan and I sat in a coffee bar, wishing time would just rewind, I got teary-eyed.
Luckily something, or rather--someone--distracted me. A family sitting near us was wasting time, as well. As the mother attended to a little baby, the father wearily watched as a toddler ran around the chairs and the booths and my bulky carry-on and my outstretched legs.
After nearly tripping on me and my things, his dad made him return to their table. Grumpily he climbed up on the booth as he got a gentle lecture from his dad. He brightened up as he found a toy to fidget with. Finally! Something he could channel his energy into. Or get into trouble with all while sitting with his family, really.
The toy turned out to be a happy meal plastic gun that shot little discs out at a crazy-fast speed. The little boy fidgeted with the toy then spotted me. A target. I almost made him stumble, thus, I must pay.
He aimed. He pulled the trigger. A tiny disc narrowly missed my head. He squinted his blue eyes and aimed again. This time a disc knicked my neck before spiraling off. The father again lectured the boy, this time for aiming arsenals at strangers. The entire time, Ryan and I attempted not to laugh. We had our own personal entertainment in the form of a hyper-active three-year-old. I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped, though I quickly drowned it with a chug of hot chocolate. The father glanced in our direction. I assured him that his son's antics were of no harm; we were merely entertained. And grateful for the distraction.
Still, he made his son come over to apologize. I handed him back one of his discs and asked him about them. His face lit up and he began babbling about the spy gadgets he was smuggling onto the airplane. He ran back to his table to get his backpack. I was no longer an enemy or a target to practice on, I was now this little boy's ally.
He dumped his toys on our table and showed each one to me. I said he was a very lucky boy to have so many cool toys. He nodded, but got serious.
He motioned me closer--a secret was about to be revealed. I bent down and smiled. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "What I really want," he divulged, "is the treatment."
"Ooooh. And what is that?" I was intrigued. I really had no idea what he was talking about. Was that code for something? Maybe this kid really was some sort of spy.
He squigged up his face and looked at me. "You KNOW! The treatment! The treatment!!"
I nodded and looked at Ryan. He had no idea what the boy was talking about either. I looked at the kid's parents. They just shrugged. I looked at the him again. He was 110% serious. "Oh! That treatment!"
I must've said the right thing because the boy's face lit up and he went back to introducing his toys to me. Soon after that secret was divulged, the family bored the plane and a few moments after that I was forced to bid au revoir to England. To this day I have no idea what the treatment may have been. But it seemed as important to that little boy as my experiences in London were to me.
Ciao, dahling!
~*Krissy*~