I know this is not the first time that I have commented that young children are like mobile petri dishes, gestating and broadcasting germs to surrounding adults. I have recently been infected with a cold by the cute and squeezable Theo, who by nature must be cuddled by his admirers, including me, allowing him to inoculate me with the illness he'd contracted from one of his nursery mates. He'd exhibited only a mild runny nose lasting less than 24 hours; I've been sneezing and growling in a throaty baritone for three days now, while my friends and colleagues cross warding fingers against the plague and wave me to a safe uncontagious distance.
Despite my lingering congestion, I went to the annual Art on the Avenue festival in Alexandria today to help Anita with her booth. We met at eight AM, and it was not until after 2:30 that she actually recouped the table fee. But then, as the unseasonable heat waned, the real customers (as opposed to compliment-bestowing browsers) increased, and by 6 PM, when we were formally closed, she had amassed a tidy profit. In all, it was a good day, if a long one. I haven't seen so many pregnant women, and so many families with young children, in a long, long time. It was fecundity central.