Is Calling a Small, Adorable Asian Child "Dim-Sum" Racist? Probably?

...A doorbell rings.

I ignore most doorbells, as they have an uncanny habit of ringing when I am either asleep or devoid of clothes. (Perhaps I spend an inordinate amount of time sleeping or naked? Hmmm…) However, as I was neither of these things, nor engaged in anything especially interesting, I begrudgingly answered the door. There was no one there- Oh wait! A tiny boy child! How may I help you, small dumpling on my doorstep?

“My blue ball fell in your yard. I threw it too high and it went in your yard. I was playing. Can you go get it?”

This led to what was, by far, the most satisfying interpersonal event of my day (total time ten minutes, tops).

We went to get his ball, he pet my puppies, he extrapolated that my dog Mustard must be shy. (He is an astute observer…I see a budding future as a botanist, or perhaps as a behavioural marketing strategist?) I met his mother (“That’s just my mom.”), and now actually sort-of know my neighbours, which is quite the feat in modern individualistic society, and given my intense fear of human connection. Yay, life!

The highlight of our conversation, and perhaps my whole week: “I had a fish but he died. His name was Tommy and he died.”

Dear tiny boy who lives next door: I want to eat you!