Today is a beautiful morning in Manhattan. I went out for a brief stroll by myself. I picked up coffee and a blueberry ginger muffin at Silver Moon Bakery (YAY!) and started to walk back to my apartment. One of my favorite things about New York City: conversations overheard on the street. Walking behind me was a mom with her daughter (upon turning around, I could see she was about 4, and way too old to be in a stroller) Here is what I heard...
Mom: We can start thinking about what toys you'd like to pack for the Dominican Republic.
Daughter: (starts listing off toys and dolls and dollhouse)
Mom: Well, we can't pack the dollhouse. It's too many things for vacation, sweetie. Maybe they sell some sort of a portable dollhouse.
Daughter: Yeah, because momma, you know what?
Mom: What, baby?
Daughter: Lara has one at her house and I want one.
(We stop here to cross the street)
Mom: Really? Is it very small? (makes the size with her hands) It's small enough like to pack in a suitcase and we can take it on vacation?
Daughter: Uh-huh
Mom: Oh okay, we'll look for it, we'll have to buy you one.
At this point, the light changes and I dash across the street. No real need to hear what happens next. As I go up to my own little portable dollhouse, I think about this little girl owning a real dollhouse at home and her mom about to purchase her a vacation dollhouse. Much like many of the actual residences of people who live here. New York, I love you, but sometimes you just don't make sense.
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