She was dressed in pink sweatpants with the word, “sweet” emblazoned on her diaper-clad bottom.
On her feet were brown clogs. Atop her head was a wool, knitted, patchwork cap of pink, yellow, and red, giving her a pastel “Rastafarian” look. However, instead of dreadlocks wrapped within, a waterfall of blonde, bouncy, curls framed her wide-open blue eyes and light complexion.
In her chubby, small, right hand, she carried what used to be a cookie; now, however, all that remained was a half eaten, saliva-covered, dollop of doughy goo with a smattering of pink frosting encrusting the edges. “Cookie” in hand, she bounded as if on springs from one corner of the bakery to the other, her grandfather always in eye shot, as she pointed to each of the items on the bottom shelf of the bakery’s glass case, looking to him for the correct word.
“Cookie,” he said, as she pointed to a green, sprinkle covered cut-out of a dinosaur.
