I Love Kids!!!

Nice to know someone chose to take a precious digy-picky of the incident, instead of offering a helping hand. You know what's really cute? Tiny eyebrows.

This Sunday, I had the pleasure of brunching with an old friend at one of my favorite Upper West Side estabs. We finished up, flossed at the table, paid the bill, and opted for a leisurely stroll northwards to work off the arugula with water dressing we had just binged on.

A couple of blocks up, I heard tiny footsteps SPRINTING right next to me. Right as I turn, expecting to find a midget with a shiv demanding the $17 worth of change I keep in my bra (to thwart thieves), I found instead a small child booking it up the street, away from his mother. Sure enough, lil' Prefontaine's Nike sneaker got caught on a corrugated metal basement door, and all 24 pounds of the kid fell at once. He caught himself on his hands, and looked shocked.


"Caaaandy!!! Yayyyy!! Candy candy candy candy! I want candy!!! Runnin for candy! Alright!!"

So, of course, I'm not a tyrant, and I gasp and say "Are you OK?" He looks up, huge -- almost cow-like -- brown eyes in disbelief, and nods. He actually really does seem fine. Maybe I mis-judged this little guy. He's a runner! He's strong! He's -- Oh... no... here it comes...

It's so funny how it takes children a full 3 minutes to figure out that they're hurt. 2 seconds ago, he was fine, but you can hear the cry twitter deep down, hear it growing, the face slowly contorting, until the kid is having a full grown epi. He was gone. Sobbing. Inconsolable. I felt bad.

And then. Then I heard the mother, booming from behind. Petite, overly made-up, in a Juicy Couture sweatsuit with a puffy coat on top, holding some shopping bags. "Michaaaaeeeelll-uh! Michaeeeel-uh! What did aw-i tell you-uh about-uh ruunnnning-uh!" Her voice boomed. "What is a-wwrrrruh-ong-uh with youuuu-uh!?"


When little Jimmy comes running up to Mommy with a question, she rolls her eyes, scoffs, and points at her rack.

I grabbed my friend's arm. "Let's go." I felt cheated. I had tried to help out the child of the most annoying, callous-seeming fucking bitch in New York City.

Did I say I love kids? Good! Because I doooo...


BABY GOATS THAT IS!


Great. I'm lactating again.