"I'm a Little Despot..." The Phil Kelly Story

In yet another display of arctic inhumanity, I laughed at a 3 year girl. Well, not so much at her...it was more about her, though I doubt that makes much difference. It was all a bit surreal, what with the unnaturally warm weather, the unexpected second cigarette break and the particularly mind-numbing bubblegum pop spattering out of the restaurant PA system. There she walked, one hand firmly clasped in her mother's hand, the other haphazardly bouncing those helium-filled orbs, a veritable emblem of youthful innocence. And then it happened. Who knows what caused it...an overly moist palm, a sudden gust of wind or perhaps any number of traffic induced cacophonies. Eventually they dwindled into nothing, slowly at first, and then steamrolling into obscurity, not unlike the career of a one Josh Hartnett. As was expected, those around me reacted in the appropriate fashion; a gasp, a sob, any number of empathetic groanings. I, on the other hand, was engaged in a fit of jovial hysterics. Before passing judgment I offer this for consideration. In an effort to protect the child's feelings, I hastily buried my face in my lap, no easy feat for those of us with freakishly long torsos. A weak substitute for true empathy, I know, but an effort nonetheless. I'm fairly certain Pol Pot would've pushed her down...