A box of old ladies

It's nice to put people in boxes. It's even nicer to stumble upon a whole new box of people. And the ones I want to write about are a box of crazy  old ladies.

They are over 50 years old, look very modest, travel alone or with their girlfriends, and are all in all very normal until...

Nelson comes around. (and me, but who cares)

They cross the street, change seats in the metro, change their direction. They fly over. Before getting close they have already started to

- click their tongues
- smack their lips
- sing a song
- smile like Goofey
- yell out loud: baby!

By the time they reach Nelson they want to touch his hand or foot, they scream when he laughs back at them, they start fussing with tissues when he drools, rearrange his clothes, comment on the carrier I use, poke at his face and start guessing his age. 1 month? 4 months?

Above all they want to

- hold him
- take a picture
- sit next to me
- tell everyone else in the metro / bus / street that there's a baby here

I recently met a Dutch women who confided that it still happens to her sons who are well in their teens. They have made a sport of hiding in the bushes when someone comes up to them with a camera.

And did I say that this box of crazy old ladies is rather big?

It included all the staff at the household department of a warehouse I visited yesterday.