Tuesday, Mar. 08, 2005 - 2:20 p.m.

9:30 a.m. Walking and weaving down the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan towards school I came across a 10 to 12 year old little girl eating an eggplant Parmesan sandwich planted smack dab in my path. As I attempted to dodge her by passing on her left she veers left.

9:31 a.m. Rethinking my strategy I shift weight and proceed to pass the golden-locked adorable little eggplant Parmesan sandwich-toting girl on her right. She veers right.

Stopping to appreciate the precocious beauty and innocence of this child I became confused. I didn't know whether to smell her ringlet tresses or her sandwich. Then it happened. The innocence of the moment was gone when the spawn of Satan brought her leg backward towards the heavens and with full thrust wheeled it forward with all her force until the pointed toe of her shiny black Buster Brown Mary-Jane came to rest upon my shin.

9:32 a.m. Instead of pushing her to the ground, instead of slapping that eggplant Parmesan sandwich out off her paw and into the gutter, I clutched her tiny arm, brought my lips to her ear and calmly told her there is no Santa Claus, one out of every 100 people in Manhattan are HIV+ and every man she will ever love will turn out to be gay.

9:33 a.m. As she began to cry and the tears rolled from her cheeks mixing with the marina sauce on her sandwich my shin, for some reason, felt so much better.

9:34 a.m. That is, until I felt the warm splat of sandwich upon my back. Curses!

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