I was a Proud, Proud Father

Damn. I was at the Post office today on the High Street, mailing a CD to someone in Karachi. There were about eight or nine people queuing, some with children and another four people were behind the counter. All the strangers in the queue were chatting softly to one another, in that hushed and polite Post office kinda way.

So I'm facing the counter, addressing an envelope, and suddenly everyone bursts out laughing. I turn around and there’s this adorable giggly black kid, not more than 3, who’s staring and pointing and me.

I ask some guy "What did he say?" and he’s like:

"That you’re his daddy."

For one fleeting, very male moment, my immediate instinct was to deny it completely and utterly, and possibly leave. Then I started laughing, and looked at his apologetic looking mom. To my surprise, she was kinda fine. A certain acronym came to mind, and for another fleeting, very male moment, I too shared in the fantasy of being his dad. Then I snapped back and resumed the suckfest of posting my CD.

I should also add that I came home and discovered that my fly was completely open the entire time. Somehow I feel like this is relevant information.