LOL, I love how you have to specify. Okay, here goes.
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Alex never had much of a social life to begin with, not since she started work at the D.A.'s office, so having A.J. now might actually be an improvement for her, socially. Sundays are now spent in Central Park, or the Museum of Natural History, or sitting on the floor of the children's section of the bookstore, reading aloud to A.J.
A.J.'s favorite books are the ones about that irritating pigeon who wants to drive a bus, notwithstanding the lack of opposable thumbs. She loves the pigeon so much that even though they have all the goddamn books at home, she still insists on hunting them down whenever they go to Barnes & Nobles.
By now, A.J. knows her way around the bookstore and as soon as they are inside, she darts off and leaves Alex in the dust in the New Arrivals. There's a new book by David Rossi, whom Alex has heard of but never met. Alex's mother is a fan, which Alex finds a little bit odd, but at least she isn't into those teenage vampire novels, or Alex would have to consider disowning her.
Alex suddenly feels a tug on her shirt and glances down to find A.J. looking upset.
"I was coming to find you," Alex reassures her. "Do you want to read the pigeon now?"
A.J.'s lower lip quivers. "We can't," she says in despair. She grabs Alex's hand and leads her to the children's section, where Alex immediately understands the problem.
A brunette woman is in their usual place with her daughter, who looks a little younger than A.J. --- it's weird how good Alex has gotten at guessing children's ages --- and they are reading The Duckling Gets a Cookie.. (The Duckling, by the way, is a manipulative sociopath, while the Pigeon probably has bipolar disorder or a mild form of Asperger's.) This is causing indescribable angst for A.J., apparently.
"We can read another one." Alex points at the shelf filled with Mo Willem's books. "There are lots."
"I WANT TO READ THAT ONE," A.J. says, loud enough for the woman and her daughter to hear.
Before Alex could tell her daughter to shush, the other little girl looks up and shouts, "MY BOOK. MINE. NOT YOURS."
A.J. looks at Alex, as if she expects Alex to do something, as if Alex had been trained in law school how to deal with toddler confrontations over a book about a goddamn pigeon.
The brunette turns around, takes another copy of the shelf, and holds it towards Alex, who gratefully accepts. Alex settles down with A.J. on the other side of the room, A.J. and the other girl glaring at each other the whole time.
But the lure of the pigeon is too much, and two-year-olds, thankfully, have the attention spans of gnats, so soon A.J. is immersed in the Duckling's latest adventures, while Alex contemplates nominating that woman for the Nobel peace prize.
no subject
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Alex never had much of a social life to begin with, not since she started work at the D.A.'s office, so having A.J. now might actually be an improvement for her, socially. Sundays are now spent in Central Park, or the Museum of Natural History, or sitting on the floor of the children's section of the bookstore, reading aloud to A.J.
A.J.'s favorite books are the ones about that irritating pigeon who wants to drive a bus, notwithstanding the lack of opposable thumbs. She loves the pigeon so much that even though they have all the goddamn books at home, she still insists on hunting them down whenever they go to Barnes & Nobles.
By now, A.J. knows her way around the bookstore and as soon as they are inside, she darts off and leaves Alex in the dust in the New Arrivals. There's a new book by David Rossi, whom Alex has heard of but never met. Alex's mother is a fan, which Alex finds a little bit odd, but at least she isn't into those teenage vampire novels, or Alex would have to consider disowning her.
Alex suddenly feels a tug on her shirt and glances down to find A.J. looking upset.
"I was coming to find you," Alex reassures her. "Do you want to read the pigeon now?"
A.J.'s lower lip quivers. "We can't," she says in despair. She grabs Alex's hand and leads her to the children's section, where Alex immediately understands the problem.
A brunette woman is in their usual place with her daughter, who looks a little younger than A.J. --- it's weird how good Alex has gotten at guessing children's ages --- and they are reading The Duckling Gets a Cookie.. (The Duckling, by the way, is a manipulative sociopath, while the Pigeon probably has bipolar disorder or a mild form of Asperger's.) This is causing indescribable angst for A.J., apparently.
"We can read another one." Alex points at the shelf filled with Mo Willem's books. "There are lots."
"I WANT TO READ THAT ONE," A.J. says, loud enough for the woman and her daughter to hear.
Before Alex could tell her daughter to shush, the other little girl looks up and shouts, "MY BOOK. MINE. NOT YOURS."
A.J. looks at Alex, as if she expects Alex to do something, as if Alex had been trained in law school how to deal with toddler confrontations over a book about a goddamn pigeon.
The brunette turns around, takes another copy of the shelf, and holds it towards Alex, who gratefully accepts. Alex settles down with A.J. on the other side of the room, A.J. and the other girl glaring at each other the whole time.
But the lure of the pigeon is too much, and two-year-olds, thankfully, have the attention spans of gnats, so soon A.J. is immersed in the Duckling's latest adventures, while Alex contemplates nominating that woman for the Nobel peace prize.