Balloons

He yelled, "Margot, no! Come!"

I rolled my eyes while scanning his Pellegrino. "Hey kiddo. You like balloons?"

"No," he sternly interjected.

I wanted to slap him a little, but instead kept scanning and told Margot how I still liked balloons. She was a blond, sad looking girl, maybe 4 or 5 years old, being yelled at despite keeping completely silent and patiently waiting while some strange guy prepared their groceries for them.

She will probably grow up letting assholes tell her what to do.

I felt sad for her but kept working. Last night, I couldn't sleep. I lay awake all night, thinking how I should have put the order on hold just to go in the back and make Margot a whole bouquet of multi-colored balloons. Sure, her father would have been angry, but at least I could have seen her smile...