On Being a Creeper

My son is a creeper.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a cute little guy and a lot of fun to hang around with. But…he’s definitely a creeper. And somehow, all that gosh-darned cuteness allows him to get away with it.

Tonight, for instance, we were out for dinner. Mid-way through eating one of the complimentary crayons, my son turned to stare at the family sitting behind us. He proceeded to stare (dropping the crayon into my chili) as they received their meals and began eating. They noticed him staring. And they smiled about it. They waved to him. On their way out (much later, amid the carnage only an 18-month-old can generate), they paused to ruffle his hair and remark on what a good boy he was.

I stare at a family eating, I get a punch in the face. My son stares, he gets congratulated. That makes me cranky.

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