Benjie and I walk through our little farmers’ market, previewing each stand before making our purchases. There is a music booth at the corner, where a different solo musician is stationed each week. As we approach that corner, Benjie ducks behind me and tangles his arms around my legs. Though likely dressed down from what she might wear at a club gig, the guitar player’s outfit is drawn from the same wardrobe. She is not dressed for sex appeal, but enough of the elements are present that my five year old recognizes something is happening and it makes him blush.

“Who are you hiding from?” I tease.

“I don’t know,” he answers.