With one hand clutching the top of the shopping cart’s wire basket and both feet precariously pressed against the metal rod on which the wheels were mounted. She leaned out as far as should could, then grabbed frantically at the cart when it began to tip over. She giggled with delight and looked at the baby in the cart’s seat to be sure that her sister wouldn’t tell on her. Angel had been as surprised as her sister when the cart began to tip; but she was giggling as well. The cart was stopped in front of the dairy case in Albertson’s and the girls’ mother was far enough down the isle that she didn’t notice the near mishap.
“Tatie,” Angel asked, “how come there’s brown eggs and then there’s white ones?”
Katie, taking her role as her sister’s instructor very seriously, rubbed her hand on her chin and looked at the rows and rows of egg cartons consideringly. She took note of the pictures that appeared on various cartons. Then, very confidently, she replied, “‘Cause the brown ones still gots baby chickens in them, that’s why.”
