a randomly selected scene of the mundane

Beside me in a church lobby sits a flower-girl, a full two years old—a bit too young to fully value her 15 minutes of fame. Conversation is sparse, limited by the 21 years, 150 lbs, and 4 feet I have over her, and the transfixing aesthetic appeal she finds in her flower-girl dress. Our corner of the room is relatively silent, as the two of us sitting on the stairs are less talkative than the rest of the wedding party, who are periodically shushed by the penguin-suited ushers. I observe the walls; she, her dress. Lifting her head, she breaks the silence with the raising of her foot and the assertion—related to me with wide-eyed sincerity—that upon her white patent-leathered-foot is, as she says, “shoe.” I find no reason to argue, as I agree myself that it is, as she said, “shoe,” so I simply nod and confirm that she is correct. Satisfied that her observation has been shared, she drops her head and once again studies her dress. The time for petal-throwing draws near, girl and basket are towed off by some fatherish looking fellow, and I sit alone on the church lobby stairs, waiting for my time to come.