The Head Explodingly-Cute

Tell me: How can this kind of cute not save the world? This is the kind of cute that makes potholes spontaneously fill. It makes broken pottery magically mend. It makes miles melt off your old, beat-up Volvo. It makes all the “Precious Moments” figurines ever poured into a mold, revert back to a bag of powdery Grolleg.
You forget nights spent in the basement, swinging a inconsolable child in a car seat, your ball and socket shoulder joint asking, with each swing, “What did I ever do to you?!” You forget ever worrying about how were going to pay for college/braces/car insurance (although, I’m sure any or all of those three are coming back sometime).
This is the cute about which Madison Avenue dreams, ’cause lemme tell ya: I’ll buy anything this kid is sellin’.