Ｔｈｅ Ｏｔｈｅｒ ｓｉｄｅ

The tiny sweaters catch my eye every time I passthem on my way to the market. They danglefrom small plastic hangers on the openwooden doors of the shop， beckoning me with theirlittle silk ribbons waving in the wind， teasing me withtheir cry of cute， cute， cute for a baby， baby， baby. Oneday I stop and run my fingers across them. One， two，three， four. They slip from my fingers and swing backand forth.