I had just crossed the street, when I saw a three-year-old boy come running full speed in my direction, towards the traffic lights, which were now on red for the pedestrians, followed by his frantic mother, who shouted at me: “Stop him!”
I swooped down and picked him up, but the little fellar didn’t like that, so he put on of his little, but surprisingly hard, fists right in my kisser, causing blood to flow everywhere, on him and on me.
I let out an involuntary “Bloody hell!” The mother indignantly told me not to use such language in front of her little angel. The little angel swapped arms, but did NOT smack his mum in the gob! I beat a hasty and bloody retreat.
Afterwards, people were staring at me, giving me The Look, probably thinking that I’d been in a bar fight. And all this for preventing what was possibly Mike Tyson‘s progeny, from getting run over. I think I’ll indoors from now on, until I die from natural causes. Yup! Ouch!!