The boy with the ice cream cone

I walked past an ice cream shop last night. A striking 30-ish blonde and a boy who looked just like her -- I'd guess he was four -- were seated at an outside table.

The mother was wearing a business suit, as though she had just come from work. The boy was eating an enormous ice cream cone. The mother was texting on her smart phone.

Five minutes later I strolled past the shop again.

Ice cream was dribbling down the boy's chin and onto his shirt. He was examining the cone intently, turning it in his hands, trying to decide whether it had gotten the best of him. 

Oblivious, the mother was texting, her fingers flying over the keys. 

I saw them later, walking toward the parking lot. The mother, gripping the phone in both hands, was still texting. She was smiling, amused by the conversation she was having. The boy, his face wiped clean, was a step behind her.

Someday, when she is wondering why her son never expresses any interest in her, she won’t understand. 

Smart phone. 

Stupid woman.