|(I’m running errands for my pregnant wife. While walking to a nearby store, I see two teenagers harassing a child that is only four or five years old. I shoo them away from the boy, and he introduces himself.)|
|Me:||“So, where’s your mom at?”|
|Boy:||“She’s in the store. Do you have kids?”|
|Me:||“Not yet. We’re expecting a baby girl soon, though.”|
|Boy:||“Well, she’s going to turn out nice, like you! So, I’m going to marry her someday!”|
|(I laugh, and play along while I bring him to the service desk, and wait until his mom picks him up. Six years later, my daughter comes home from school and introduces us to a friend that defended her against a bully on the playground. I didn’t recognize him, but he certainly knew who I was!)|
the teared up. face. doesn’t. it doesn’t… get to… it doesn’t get to me… I. I.
You killed. I, THIS ISN’T GOING TO WORK ON ME. no. BUT. You killed so many people. This won’t.
NO BABY I’M SO SORRY. YOU WERE JUST DAMAGED. IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE CHITAURI DID TO YOU BUT YES, YOU WERE JUST A CHILD YOU WERE AFRAID AND YOU THOUGHT YOU WANTED IT, BUT I KNOW YOU WERE JUST ACTING ON YOUR JEALOUSIES AND HATRED THAT SPROUTED FROM THE BETRAYALS. I KNOW YOU LOOKED BACK MANY TIMES AND QUESTIONED EVERYTHING BUT IT WAS TOO LATE. I KNOW. I KNOW. BABY I’M SO SORRY.
SO PLEASE STOP DOING THIS THING THAT YOU DO WITH YOUR FACE WHERE IT GETS ALL RED AROUND YOUR EYES AND EYEBROWS AND EVEN AROUND YOUR LIPS AND THAT SEXY THING YOU DO WITH YOUR ADAMS APPLE.