Here’s David Beckham hugging on a little girl whose voice is probably deeper than his. (Although, that’s not saying much since the high-pitched bark that comes out of my chihuahua’s yap hole is deeper than Beck’s voice.) Becks held onto Harper Seven as he walked out of a store in Paris today and he’s making the same face I make when I hug my vaporizer. It’s a look of true love.
Becks doesn’t really hug Posh anymore, because every time he does, the warm human affection causes her icicle bones to melt and all that’s left of her is a puddle of liquefied misery, oversized sunglasses and a Louis Vuitton butt stick. Then Becks has to get an ice sculptor to refreeze her and put her back together again. It really ruins the moment.
So whenever Becks gets to be all warm with another human he gets so happy that it looks like his internal organs are turning into heart-shaped mylar balloons. Squeeeee!