Baby Said: You're So Ug-a-ly! Man said: You're a Pretty Little Thing

One day, as I was standing in line at a local supermarket, a 3-year old baby girl spoke to me in a raspy tone: "Hey," she quipped enthusiastically. She was a beautiful Carmel-colored little girl with sandy-brown hair, a huge smile, dimpled cheeks, and twinkling eyes. But her voice sounded as though she had a cold.


"Hey, to you," I responded equally enthusiastic. "What's your name," I asked.

"Brianna," she said still beaming.

Instantly the smile fell from her face as something else drew her attention away from me, prompting me and those standing near us to look around to see what caused her smile to suddenly disappear. She lowered her head, casted her eyes upward and transfixed them.

I noticed she was starring at a man in another line right next to us.

The man was exceptionally well-dressed in chocolate brown slacks, a matching brown crew neck, long-sleeve pull-over shirt; taupe-colored snake skin shoes, and a matching belt. He was impeccably dressed and smelling good.

My eyes moved from studying his clothes to his face. The man was very dark-skinned with an unusually large head. His eyes were droopy, appearing to be half-closed; and his lower lip was huge, puffy, and pink, suspended downward on his chin--he looked hideous. I was careful not to buck my eyes in surprise.

Brianna's fixation on the man made everyone else take a look at him. Her mother wiped her face in a motion to make her stop starring at him.

The man noticed Brianna's rock-steady glaring at him. He exchanged looks with her several times as she sat in her mother's shopping cart.

He said to Brianna: "You're a pretty little thing."

A man in line directly behind me holding a big sheet cake immediately chimed in and said: "She sure is--just as pretty as she can be."

Brianna's eyes were still casted squarely in an upper-cut fashion on the man.

The man stated again: "She's so pretty. Do you know how pretty you are," he asked Brianna.

Out of the blue, in a slow methodical tone Brianna stated: "You're so ug-a-ly." (Not ugly: She incorporated 3 syllables in the word instead of 2.)

The man behind riveted; and we all held our laughter. But you could hear--within a second or two--sounds of near sneezes from people or clearing of throats to contain their laughter.

Brianna's mother, laboring to keep from laughing, shouted: "No he isn't! Don't say that, Brianna!"

"Yes he is," Brianna replied without air coming in between her mother's comments.

At this point, everyone within ear-shot erupted into unbridled laughter, including the hideous-looking man.

The man behind me fell into me; he, the cake he was holding, and I hit the floor. Tears were rolling down his face as he laughed, and his face was completely distorted as he gasped to catch his breath. I was literally sprawled out on floor in my own state of belly-aching laughter with him leaning against me trying to speak.

Brianna was the only one not laughing. She maintained her composure, frowning at the man--which made it even funnier.
After several minutes, people recollected themselves and moved through the lines. But not me and James--the man with the cake that knocked me down while laughing. We were still on the floor in a sitting position straining our guts in laughter.

James launched into lampooning what had just happened. James made his voice raspy like Brianna's, looked at me and said: "You're so ug-a-ly."

"No he isn't," I said mocking the mother. "Don't say that, Brianna."

"Yes he is," said James impersonating Brianna before he fell backwards into another fit of laughter.

People were standing over us laughing as we re-enacted the scene with Brianna and the hideous-looking man.

Finally, we got off the floor. The birthday cake James was holding was smashed and completely unsalvageable.

James panicked: "Oh, Lord! My daughter's birthday cake is smashed all up! My wife is going to snap! What am I going to do? Help me!

We went-up in laughter again. I said to James as I began walking away: "I got to go."

James snatched me back, whipped out his cell phone trying to hand it to me and said: "Oh no! You can't leave me now. You helped me smash my cake. Here," he said sticking the phone in my face. "Call my wife for me and tell her what happened." He was serious. But we couldn't stop laughing. By now I was weak and exhausted.

I said to James: "Hey! There's the manager; have him call to her to tell her how the cake got ruined in the store." When the manager heard me say that, he walked back over to us.

"I'm going to do better than that. Come with me," he said to James. "I'm going to have bakery redecorate a sheet cake for you right now--it might not be the same kind of cake, but it will be a sheet cake decorated like the one you all smashed on the floor laughing at the poor man."

In the end, I had run out of time and could not purchase what I originally went to the store to get. James got a fresh, redecorated cake. But I got a memory for a life time; and every time I tell somebody this story, I cannot control my laughter, and the listener(s) get a blast from it.

Out of the mouth of a baby! It was dearly hilarious. And the hideous-looking man was very good-natured about the ordeal.

Saishe sharing!