small. ridiculously cute girl with blond braids: why do you have mexican writing on your leg?
me: (stunned silence)….uhhh…what?
her: why do you have mexican writing on your leg?
me: i……don’t.
erica off on the sidelines: michele! fer god’s sake. tell her what language it is.
me: but did you hear what she SAID?
erica: (making shooing motions.)
me: it’s actually in chinese.
little girl: i went to a chinese restaurant.
michele: oh yeah? what’s your favorite kind of chinese food?
her: i like the beef.
me: beef is good.
her: and the broccili.
me: (stunned silence)…really? i don’t much like vegetables. best to avoid them.
her: (small and confused pursed lips) my brother likes the same.
me: well all right then.
at this point i think she finally noticed my desperate need to escape before i said something else wrong and she wandered off. it’s funny because i never know what to say to small people. i hate treating them like children even though they are. but you always get in trouble for treating them nonchalantly. except for how in my experience working in summer school programs they fucking love you and swarm you every goddamn day if you treat them with sarcasm and irony and backhanded joint giggling. of course that could have been due to the popsicles i was always giving them.