mothering sound byte: the good witch

we were just finishing a quick lunch on cook street after a lovely tour around beacon hill park. patio seating was at a premium, so i offered a woman two of our seats since we were about to pack up. she had shoulder-length curly red hair and a big smile. she wore a straw fedora and a vest. when she came closer to our table to accept the chairs with gratitude, the following conversation ensued:

the girl [wide-eyed and serious, to the woman]: are you the witch?  

the woman: i'm sorry, what?  

me [wide-eyed, wracking my brain for something, anything, that rhymes with witch that would actually be helpful, despite my horror. i had nothing.]: uh.... 

the woman: am i a witch? 

[the girl nods. still nothing came out of my mouth.] 

the woman: ... i'm a good witch! 

[i muffle my enormous sigh of relief] 

the girl: you're a good witch? 

the woman: yes i am!

[my mom and i laugh together as the woman walks away with the chairs, still smiling.]

best come back ever. the woman did look a bit like a middle-aged glinda, if she ever walked among us to coffee at starbucks.

later, she passed by again, as we regaled the wife with the story of the good witch. she gave the girl blessings for her whole life. 

and for the whole day, the girl repeated, "she's the good witch?" yes. yes, my sweet imaginative, inquisitive, incorrigible girl. you met a good witch.

phew.