Yesterday, I brought Chloe to a local bakery in town to see about a possible part-time gig over the summer. While we were in the bake shop, we saw a young girl (three years old, I would have guessed) perched on a red stool at the cafe bar. She swiped at her nose and her fingers left a chocolate moustache from her overly frosted cupcake. All at once, the toddler slid off the stool, ignored her confection, and stood still in the middle of the shop, her brown eyes fixated on Chloe.
Chloe leaned against a side counter chatting up the bake shop owner. As she summarized job qualifications and spoke of schedule availability, Chloe casually gathered her blonde locks, pulled them away from her neck and let them fall gently like water rivulets first running through her fingers then spilling down her back.
The little girl’s mother prepared to leave the shop but the child absolutely refused to go. Bending down to urge her from ear level had no effect. The girl’s feet remained firmly planted inside the bakery. “No, Mommy! We can’t go. Peeez. That girl!” the child said breathlessly and pointed toward Chloe, “That’s Princess Cinderella!”