Sunday, November 07, 2004

Feral hogs and sleeping babies.

My dear sweet mother-in-law took us to Pizza Hut again tonight. Bless her, she knows we don't have any money now and she treats us whenever she can.

We used to eat out several nights a week; that was our main vice. Yeah, we're wild ones. Those days are over, but we still manage one on our own, and one with her, most weeks. Our son is visiting again this weekend, and we had a lovely time.

In spite of it all.

We do have a knack for hitting the Pizza Hut when all the Socially and Behaviorally Disadvantaged are there. Last week it was Witch Hazel with the dimpled thighs and cleavage all the way down to her toes, and her entourage. Tonight, it was several groups of ten-year -old boys, each with parental units that might as well have been nonexistent as far as control went. I sat entranced at their cuteness and at their energy and at their sweet smiles. And I sat appalled at their manners. Or rather, their lack of manners. To be out of control like that at home or on the football field is one thing, but to behave like that in public is quite another. They plowed through the Pizza Hut like a pack of feral hogs in a field of sleeping babies. And that's no exaggeration.

The table of little girls sitting across from us was disgusted. (Don't get your hopes up, girls; things won't improve all THAT much with time.)

To be perfectly frank, I love kids. I love their energy and their enthusiasm and their bright innocent faces and their questions and their jokes. I think a well-mannered kid is great company. Kids are awesome. I LOVE kids. But I don't like inconsiderate, boorish behavior in a public place, from anyone of any age. I'm talking about you, too, Grandpa.

Allowing your kid to run wild in a restaurant is in itself inconsiderate, boorish behavior. Get a clue, Mom and Dad. Nobody else thinks your kids are cute when they act like that. And everybody thinks you are pathetic stupid losers for allowing it.

In a public place, shared by others, everybody has an obligation to exercise self-control. And if you don't have any, stay home. If your kids don't have any, don't inflict them on other people. I mean it. Keep your brats (however young or old) penned up where they can't hurt or annoy other people. We've paid money to be here. Take your screaming child and get OUT. Nobody else on the planet thinks the way your kid picks his nose is cute. And nobody else wants to watch him run around in circles, or burp the alphabet, or sing, or dance, or recite naughty limericks, or pinch people (come a little closer, kid. . . .) or honestly do anything besides sit there like a sentient being and eat. And if your child is an infant, we don't want to smell anything, either. Go home.

I am not talking about childhood's sweet giggles, or even some audible conversations. I think a child who talks in low tones and knows how to use a fork is one of life's most beautiful sights. I think we all know what I'm talking about.

Any mothers who don't believe in raising kids who know how to behave in public, come on over and fight. Bring it on, sissies.