Dribble

The other day I was sitting on the plane on the way to Indianapolis from Minnesota, waiting for the rest of the passengers to board when this Asian man and his very young toddler walk down the aisle towards the rear of the airplane. When they reached the section that me and two other passengers were sharing, they were forced to stop due to traffic further down the plane.

This man's little girl was a wide-eyed cutie, resting in his arms, examining the rest of the passengers. With one hand, she clung to her loving father and with the other she was grasping a rather large bottle of Dean's milk. As they stood there, I couldn't help but resist waving my hands and smiling a little at her. So I did. For a moment, she just stared at me, wondering what I was doing. The corners of her mouth began to crease with the beginnings of a smile until it was a full blown grin. Little did I realize that she had a huge mouthful of milk.

The white, soon to be sour liquid rushed out of her mouth and all over the man sitting on the end of my row. He'll never know the dribble was my fault.