Sitting in a park on a late Sunday afternoon, the southerly wind quickens, skirting the edges of the plastic, novelty tablecloths of the birthday party table. The clouds gather, not ominously, more curiously, around the near horizon. We all gather our collars round our throats.
Luckily, I am nursing my son. My friend, sitting next to me, is nursing Keira. We soak up their body warmth.
Suddenly, my friend says, “Keira do you need to go to the toilet?”
[I am suddenly on ALERT MODE!]
“Why?” I ask my friend.
“She just farted in my lap.”
“Oh, sorry!”
“Don’t be sorry. It was warm.”
Now that is a good friend.
