The smiles come unpredictably; unaccountably, most times. Sometimes when I say her name, sometimes not.

She took an immense shit and I didn't realize at first. There was nothing changed in her demeanor. Yet when I lifted her up it had soaked through her pants. She continued to wriggle ecstatically, the way anyone does when they're new to the world. It was everywhere: her legs, back, everywhere. By the standards of civilization, a calamity. But she didn't care. And neither did I.

The old man at the liquor store made faces at her, shaking his hands like a ghost.

"Hello!" I said to her playfully, indicating somehow that we both acknowledged the stranger's gesticulations. I wanted to say: "Look at the crazy old man!" But I didn't.

"Your daddy loves you!" the man said.

"I do, I do," I cooed to her. "Gimme the Bombay gin. The litre."