Borat

So I get out of my car.  It’s drizzling.  I’m on a mission to get my new MacBook then head to Dominic’s birthday party.  In and out.  I’d already made up my mind about buying a new computer.

I’m walking down Chestnut Street in the Marina.  This wee little kid probably 3 years old isn’t watching where he’s going.  He collides into me.  The impact of colliding into me causes him to fall backward like a beetle on its back with all four legs flailing in the air.  

I reach down and coo “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.  Are you ok?” while setting the kid upright.  

He grimaces then screams, “Don’t you say that to me!”  Then he starts pummeling me with all fours–boxing with his hands and kicking with his feet.  I’m astounded.  First, I’m surprised because I’m a short, petite midget but none of his physical abominations are doing any damage. I just kind of stare at him, shocked at what’s happening.  

His mom calls out from a few feet away, “Oh don’t worry, it’s not your fault.”  Then she disciplines, “Borat, stop that!”  

I swear to God she called the little kid Borat!

Anyhow, the whole thing shocked the fucking bejesus out of me and as soon as I got some help at the Apple store I had to tell the guy my story.  He was laughing hysterically.