The other day I was in a hurry. Just like most other days. I decided to give Petit-Homme a glorious chocolate-topped biscuit to eat en route to crèche in his pram. Yes, I’ve embraced the Dutch habit of offering kids chocolate at breakfast, basically because I’m confused. I’m confused because the moment I walk into the foyer of his crèche, I know that the zen in the air (and the menus posted weekly) should transcend me to organic farms and low-sugar, risotto, quinoa, bulgur, granola, hippe living. On the other hand, everyone here keeps talking about chocolate sprinkles. So I decided to compromise and keep the chocolate but ditch the sprinkles.
On the first day of this surrender, Petit-Homme gnashed his two chocolate biscuits with all the salivatory gusto he could muster. The smoking guns disappeared, but numerous trails of incriminatory evidence were left dribbling from his chin onto his bright yellow spring jacket. In short, chocolate lava everywhere.
Back to the original point that I was in a hurry. No tissues, no muslin, not even a scarf. As I stood by the side of the road scraping the goo away with my bare hands, a man driving slowly past in a Giulietta stuck his arm out and I was quite surprised to see a pack of Tempo. He left me cheerfully with the entire pack of tissues as traffic was rolling on. Truly, an unexpected gesture of kindness!