As I pulled into my parking space, returning from this morning’s workout, I saw Talker had just pulled in, was removing stuff from her front passenger side and that my Little Stalker was peeking from around the rear of Talker’s car, watching me pull in.
She couldn’t jump out and surprise or scare me — like the time she once did when she knocked then hid in a corner on the porch, because I’d already seen her, said "I see you", so she ran over, gave me a hug and asked "Can I come to your house?".
Changing the conversation, I offered "I don’t have any treats for you. I didn’t know you were going to be here".
It was then I noticed the cast on her arm.
"Broken" said Talker.
Visiting San Diego Wild Animal Park with family, Talker included, she fell. Noone felt anything serious happened, other than a little boo boo, until Little Stalker said, "I think I broke it", whereupon park medics were summoned.
There was a big to-do after that and though the park was not at fault or blamed for a child tripping over her own feet, tickets were refunded, parking fees were refunded, and Little Stalker was given a $50 toy.
At the end of Talker’s recounting the broken arm story, Little Stalker once again asked, "Can I come to your house" but this time gave me the business with an imploring look and "Can I come to your house … Pleease!?".
"No honey. I’ve got things to do".
If Little Stalker is going to be here for any length of time — to the end of the week and bingo day, I’m guessing there’s no way grandma is going to keep her from knock knock knocking on my door.
Inasmuch as I have no treats on hand, I may have to share my See’s chocolates with her, LOL.
Not too long ago, a commentor — who shall remain nameless, but you know who you are and I know who are, came for me with "Children are good at knowing when someone doesn’t like them. You’re a good faker".
I deleted the comment because I can and because it was judgmental bullshit, but I do agree that children and animals are good at ferreting out what's below the surface.
Which should have been commenter's first clue that perhaps something might be wrong with the commenter herself, rather than with me.
Consequently, inasmuch as my Little Stalker is always happy to see me, hugs me, wants to spend time with me — even though I’ve made no bones about not wanting a man, woman, child, neighbor knocking at my door bothering me, Little Stalker is evidently a better judge. Senses what commenter, with her surface understanding, lack of depth and judgmental state of being can sense.
On tap for remainder of day is trying out a no-rice sushi recipe.