“That’s Her Animal”
There’s a lady in the park in a red velour pantsuit, she has a blue music player playing soothing tunes, and she’s doing Tai Chi.
There’s a small fur coat or stole puddled up next to her on the bright green astroturf.
My darling approaches, curious.
She looks at me, then at the stole. “What’s its name?” she asks, and I can tell she wants to pet it.
The woman acknowledges us with a smile, continues her routine completely nonplussed, and ignores the cacophony of the park, even when a group of tweens start mimicking her in the background.
And then she starts doing some serious in place – jazzercise? Or maybe I don’t know that much about Tai Chi. But she is continuing to mind her own business, and I am trying desperately for us to mind ours.
Meanwhile, my toddler refuses my explanation that this is, in fact, a coat, so it doesn’t have a name.
Not to be fooled, she shakes her sweet little head, furrows her brow, and accuses me:
“That’s not a coat. That’s her animal. What’s its name?”