I love the Chicago metro area. Mark and I often daydream about what it would be like to be like to live there. . . cheaper cost of living, big-town ameneties with small(er) town pace . . . but, alas, Mark has a job in Northern Virginia, and not in Illinois . . .
On our trip home, an extremely nice young Indian woman took a liking to Bitty. The woman stood in front of us in the looooooong security line. The young lady waved "hello" to Bitty, smiled, and pinched Bitty's little chipmunk cheeks. Daddy held Bitty as she laughed and grinned in return, and Mark and I were grateful for the distraction.
After awhile, entertaining a baby gets old. REAL OLD. The nice young woman went back to her business, and still we stood in the security line at O'Hare.
I turned to notice the check-in line at American Airlines, and note to my husband that we had checked-in just in time, when I heard my husband yelling "No! No Sophie, No!
Bitty had a death grip on the hair of the nice young woman standing in front of us, and had jerked this poor girl's head back wrestling-style.
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| Picture this, but an infant yanking a kindly Indian girl's hair |
Ok, so this girl's head was cranked back about 90 more degrees than this picture shows. I pryed Bitty's hands away, unsuccessfully, for what seemed like an eternity. People were staring. The girl kept repeating "It's totally fine, it's totally fine," but I felt totally humilated. It took several minutes to pry Bitty's hands away, and much, much longer for the flushed redness to leave our cheeks. We apologized profusely, but still felt like a couple of major assholes.
Later, as we boarded our flight, I noticed my husband left quite a bit more space between he, Bitty, and the preceding person.
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