far too friendly

They tell you not to joke around when you go through security at an airport.  Don't talk about bombs, knives, guns, or make jokes with the security personnel.  Take off your shoes, drop your keys in the grey bucket, and don't make a ruckus.

Apparently, the TSA agents themselves have different instructions.

I handed him my ID and boarding pass.  He raised one eyebrow when he looked at it and checked it several times.  

"Your name is Molly Malone?"

"Yes, sir."  I replied, praying my name wasn't on some list of "most wanted bloody violent terrorists" somewhere.

"Molly Malone?"

"Yes?"  I was becoming less sure of myself at this point.

"Hm."  He frowned at it, then looked up at me.

Then he smirked.  

"There's a great bar called Molly Malone's here."  He handed back my ID, laughing at my worry-ridden expression.  "Check it out sometime."

california thanksgiving

He is five years old.  He wears blue glasses and his hair is very straight and brown.  He is high energy, loves trains, and really likes the movie Happy Feet.

I am twenty-one.  My socks never match and my hair is reddish and unruly.  My energy comes in fits and starts, I love stories, and really like drinking coke.

We are fast friends.

a friendly fellow

I was waiting in the airport for my plane to begin boarding.  A small boy sat beside me.  He played his DS for a while, laughing evilly every time he beat a bad guy and making all the sound effects himself.  Growing  bored of this he decided to take pictures, ask me what my favorite color was (which is green, even though I was wearing a blue scarf.  it's true.), and find out how old I am.
He and his mother boarded the plane before me.  When I passed them on my way to my seat, he patted the space by them saying, "sit here with us!"