The brat

Today we went to the mall. I’m not all that enamored of the mall, but it’s an ideal place for pushing a stroller and keeping a baby amused. I’m not in shopping mode at all these days. I’m so entirely sick of the typical mall stores and their typical fashions. So we just ambled herkily and jerkily from store to store.

SALE signs were plastered in every window. I didn’t care. SAVE 60%? Sounds good, but nah. I just looked, touched, considered, then put the items back on the rack.

As I half-heartedly browsed the back racks at Baby Gap, I glanced up to see a fiveish-year-old boy staring at Devin. And when I say staring, I don’t mean in a curious way. This kid was glaring at my baby. All blonde hair and fashionable clothing, he was standing next to his mom who was engrossed in a rack of marked-down fashionable clothing. And, as I said, he was glaring (quite intently) at my baby.

I shot him a look of complete irritation, locking eyes with him. No reaction. Dev, thankfully, was oblivious (what 10-month-old wouldn’t be?) as he sat calmly, chewing on his plastic keys. I eyed the brat again and then moved the stroller so that Devin was facing away from him and he couldn’t send laser beams of meanness toward my darling little guy.

Sure, he may have had his reasons for the glare. Maybe his mother had dragged him through fifteen stores already. Maybe she forced him to wear cute little sweaters with bears on them and the kids in kindergarten taunted him (I plan to do the same to Devin). Maybe he really wanted that chocolate-chip cookie from Mrs. Field’s and she told him no.

I don’t really care what his reason was. All he needs to understand is that you don’t mess with my baby. Because, sadly, I’m not above biting a five-year-old. Really.