It's official. Rollie is girl-crazy.
Yesterday I was without a car, and so I decided to walk to our neighborhood pool in the morning so that we could make it home before the heat of the day resulted in our collective spontaneous combustion. Rollie rode his bike in front of me, Elsa was strapped into the jogger, clad in her favorite (hand-me-down and hence too big and baggy) Dora bathing suit.
As we neared the pool, I heard splashing, giggles and squeals coming from over the privacy hedge. Rollie, who had been pedaling vigorously so he could splash through a dirty puddle, came to a halt, eyeing the hedge with wary yet keen interest.
Rollie: Who was that?
Me: I don't know, Bud. Sounds like someone beat us to the pool.
Rollie: Are they friends?
Me: They aren't friends we know, but that doesn't mean they can't be our friends.
More splashing, squeals and giggles. The tone and timbre telling me that these friends were most definitely female. Which I think Rollie also realized, because I could have sworn he puffed up his chest a bit, sat a little taller on his bike, and started pedaling toward the sound. Kinda like how a peacock would, if peacocks rode bikes with training wheels.
