We sat side by side at the end of a long row of pedicure chairs. We talked of babies and sciatica and carpal tunnel syndrome and all of the other wonderful changes women put up with to have children. The conversation fell into comfortable lulls, the way good friend's conversations do. I looked down the row of people to a pretty woman in her mid- to late-thirties. She had her son with her. He was sitting on her lap, playing with plastic dinosaurs. I couldn't believe how patient and well-behaved he was.
"How old do you think he is?", Lana asked. She must have followed my gaze.
"I don't know. Maybe five. It's all in the training, right?"
"Exactly. I'll just have to make sure mine starts young."
A little while later the boy and his mother came to the back section where the nail dryers are. We watched him do a double-take when he passed Lana. He tugged at his mother's shirt and whispered in her ear. His mother laughed.
"He's asking about the baby in your tummy."
I hoped Lana would spare them her usual 'what baby?'-trick, which is just plain mean.
"He wants to know if it's a boy or a girl."
"It's a girl", Lana answered. "Can you think of nice girl's name?"
The little boy wrinkled his forehead thinking hard.
"Mommy", he answered with finality.
We all laughed.
"C'mon sweets" his mother encouraged, "how about a girl's name in your class? Can you think of any girls names from school?"
He paused for a short moment, looking at his feet, and shook his head.
Either this kid is absolutely the cutest thing EVER or he just played us like a buncha suckers.
Either way, well played kid. Well played.