It's no new news in this old court that babies are not my favorite things. Sure, they're cute and people say they smell good but who hasn't seen at least one baby that was clearly hit in the head with an ugly stick? As my seventh grade teacher Mr. Trowbridge would say when encountering a less than attractive bundle of joy, "Now, that's a baby!" And speaking as one who took care of a baby for a full year, there are plenty of times when they most assuredly and most definitely do not smell anywhere close to good. If "good" was in one neighborhood, you would need to take the G train and two buses to get to the neighborhood she smelled like after a lunch of chicken nuggets and kimchi. Don't get me wrong though. I loved that baby I took care of. Still do. But sometimes she was stanky. There was a baby in my station last night. And before you say that I should hate the parents and not the baby, I know that already. It's just much more fun to say "I hate babies."
The first indication that this baby and I would be having issues was when the highchair went at the end of the table and now the baby was right in front of the side stand. Anytime I needed to get a spoon, I would have to reach right behind the baby. What was wrong with this baby? Didn't it know it was in my way there? Why are babies so unaware of their spatial relationship to other people and things? Man, babies are so clueless. Every time I approached the table, it reached out to touch my hair. Granted, my hair is amazing and the baby wasn't the only one in the restaurant who wanted to touch it last night. I let the lady at booth seven touch my hair because she complimented me so highly and I liked her Louisiana accent. I also figured it would help the tip. The baby however had no accent at all and its hands were probably sticky with jelly, lollipop or poop. And babies are notoriously bad tippers. It's like they can't figure out 15% of their check. Man, babies can't do anything.
Halfway through the meal, the baby knocked over a glass of water. It spilled all over the table and onto the mom and then the floor. Why did I bother giving the baby a plastic cup with a lid if it was determined to use a full sized glass of water anyway? Man, babies have shitty motor skills and coordination. The mom never even got up even though she had just had water poured all over her lap. She didn't even flinch. She must be used to her baby always spilling crap all over her. As I was trying to clean it up, she didn't budge an inch. I got down on my hands and knees with some paper towels and soaked up as much as I could since she was too unconcerned to even move her chair over two inches. Meanwhile, baby got a handful of my locks and wouldn't let go. "Oh, look, she likes your hair," said Lazy Mom. I smiled and thought about how everyone likes my hair. It doesn't make your baby a child genius or anything. Get over it. When it became clear that this water was as cleaned up as it was going to get, I gave up. I would let the hardwood floors do the rest of the work for me. Soak it up, hardwood. I did not take them another glass of water because that greedy baby would probably just grab at it and toss it to the floor in another attempt to get at my precious follicles. Not gonna fall for that, baby.
They gave me a good tip and the baby waved at me as they left the restaurant. On second glance, the baby was kinda cute with her little stubby fingers and her hair pulled into a barely-there ponytail. On the table was a red crayon that had rolled underneath the plate. I picked it up and ran out to the sidewalk to catch them. "You left something on your table your baby might want." The baby reached out to grab at the crayon and the mother told me thank you. "Bye-bye, baby," I said. "Have a good night." She cooed out something that I couldn't understand. I rolled my eyes. Man, babies have terrible verbal skills.
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