Where I live in Central Asia my biggest safety concern is pick pockets. They are everywhere. I always have to make sure that my purse is shut tight and clasped closely to my side. I get use to watching my shadow to make sure no one is getting to close to my backpack, or keeping my hands on anything valuable in my pockets. But since coming home I have started to let my guard down a little. I will now hang my purse on the back of my chair at a restaurant without fearing that someone on their hands and knees behind me will try going through my stuff.
Last week when I was up in Cambridge my friends Becky and Tom treated me to a nice dinner at Swiss Chalet. We were all very hunger, but no one was apparently as hunger as their toddler Ben. When the waitress arrived to our table and started putting the full platters of food down, Ben was ready. Before my plate was even fully on the table he had nabbed one of my pieces of bread and had it securely in his mouth. For a girl on her guard I didn’t even see that one coming.
In the national language out there we talk about pick pockets and being small thieves, and Ben is certainly the smallest thief yet to get his sticky hands on my stuff.
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