Where I work, we take Halloween seriously. Departments dress up, decorate, and always try to outdo one another. The café always decorates – there’s a Jack the Ripper looking guy in one corner, and in another a zombified scarecrow; there are jack-o-lanterns, black cats, cobwebs, and flickering lights on the salad bar, over the grill, and at other random places. People bring in their kids for office trick-or-treating. It’s a fun way to break away from the suit-and-tie environment that we have the other days of the year. (Granted, with the way the economy and mortgage arenas are tanking, the enthusiasm for All Hallows this year at work has waned.)
I just went downstairs to grab some coffee. (Mmmmmmmm. Cinnamon coffee = heaven in a cup!) While down there, I saw a little girl (maybe 3 years old?) dressed as Bam-Bam. Not Pebbles. Bam-Bam. She’s here with her dad and spreading her cuteness around like SARS. With a serious and intent look on her face, she runs over to the scarecrow zombie and threatens him with her caveman club, waving it at him so very fiercely. Then she runs back and stands in front of her fathers legs, like his wee protector, and at the same time gathering safety from him, glaring all the while at the life-sized doll who is threatening her territory.
The two times she safeguards us from the evil zombie scarecrow (she’s not to be trifled with, don’t let her 3’ frame fool you into underestimation!) she does so entirely silent. There is none of the typical toddler “hi-ya!” yells – only deadly, deadly silence. Forget the Marines or the Seals. If I ever need a defender, I’m calling Bam-Bam.
I think my ovaries just jumped out and bit me in the ass.
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