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“What the fuck?” I repeat, staring in awe.
The furry little mass just continues its task, hands groping for a gallon of chocolate milk just out of its reach.
“There are bears in Amsterdam?” Mysti asks.
At the sound of her voice, it turns, feet spinning quickly on the tile. As its face comes into view, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. A hundred nature documentaries fall quickly from my thoughts, images of angry momma bears blessedly disappearing.
“Awwww!” Becky says, crouching down slightly.
Not a bear then.
Actually, this might be worse.
The child looks confusedly at us, pushing back the hood of his bear costume.
“It’s okay,” Becky says. “We won’t hurt you.”
She reaches both arms out in invitation. He ignores her entirely, his eyes passing over her as if she doesn’t exist. They don’t stop until they find Mysti, locking intensely on to her.
“Mommy!” he cries, before running across the kitchen.
He reaches Mysti in a second, wrapping his arms tightly around her leg.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
What the fuck?
