In the morning, the kids and I go for a walk. A group of Asian tourists notices us – because of their constant photographing, they are walking at the same pace as our kids. At first, they smile at us. They find the children cute. Then for some strange reason they find it entertaining to run up to the kids, poke them from behind, and laugh at how they are startled or get upset. We quickly put a stop to that.

In the afternoon, the little one is riding his balance bicycle. A group of female tourists finds it cute and feels the need to record it for posterity on their phones. But he keeps moving out of their frame, so they feel no compunction to take him and “photogenically” arrange him, perhaps to achieve a golden ratio in their photos. “No, no,” I call out angrily, because he is on the verge of tears. It doesn’t help. I choose a stronger form of defense, and give the persistent woman who is still “arranging” my son a slap across the wrist. Only then does she desist.

Please do not touch the exhibited items.

Y.