Saturday, November 8, 2008

Don't Touch My Kid

Summer and I are walking through the mall, Mads is in the hotsling watching all the action and chewing on her fingers. The first six people we pass turn to their shopping buddy and say, "Oh! Look at that baby!" which is totally acceptable, we are a very cute package. The seventh person we see, shopping alone, comes up and says "Oh! Look at that baby!". Who is she talking to? Me? Like I didn't notice there was a fifteen pounder hanging from my neck. I smile. Her hand reaches out, I take notice of her black teeth, her too tight pants and belly shirt, muffin top hanging out all white and bubbly, and decide that I do not want this person touching my baby. I know I shouldn't judge people based on their purple pleather pants and lack of personal hygiene, maybe she is a very nice person, but I zig when she zags and I make a swift exit, sweetly mumbling about the imaginary poop that is soaking into my shirt. Crisis averted. Shoppers 9-13 point and smile, I smile back and walk on my merry way. Shopper number 14? Insane asylum escapee? Chester the molester? There I go judging again, but this guy has a freaky smirk that makes me uncomfortable. I zig again, but shit, he zigs too. I try to turn my zig into some kind of professional football move and walk right into a pillar. Chester laughs at my folly and then pats my baby on the head with his greasy fingers. I can't imagine what my face looks like, horror poorly masked with a plastic smile so I don't look like a mean girl. I sani-wipe Mady's hair as soon as Chester ducks into Gap Kids. Called that one!

What's a girl got to do to get some effing personal space? Do I need to hang a sign around my neck stating, "LOOK! DON'T TOUCH!"? How about a big tattoo on Mady's forehead, "touch me and your penis will shrivel off"? I would never just walk up to someone I don't know and fondle their child. Why would anyone think that's OK? I appreciate the smiles, nods, and exclamations of "How cute!!" but that is where the line needs to be drawn. My kid is not public property!

Maybe I'm just overprotective. Or maybe I'm just a big 'ole bitch, but either way:

Don't touch my kid!!

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