Inspired by this complaint (of things the female writer wanted out of her life):
1. People who can not or will not control their children in public. If they want to live with screaming yelling brats who throw fits and cry over nothing, that's fine. HOWEVER, don't make ME deal with them at Target!
Now, perhaps it's not fair that I'm going to go off on a writer that I've never read before (today), but I run into this shit all the time, and it's got me mad.
FIRST of all, who the hell asked you to DEAL with them? Are you being asked to assist, or are you merely offended to witness the spectacle? I don't ever once remember asking a perfect stranger to assist me in any way with one of my children that might have gotten cranky while out. And you know what? I don't care if you are are Mr. Fucking Rogers and Dr. Spock rolled into one - at SOME point, even the most perfect child is going to have "a moment" in a store. Get over yourself. You know what? When I hear someone say something shitty like this, I say there is an upwards of 90% chance that person doesn't have any kids. Everybody is a perfect parent, has all thee answers, and is full of advice to parents BEFORE THEY HAVE KIDS. You know what? Shut the hell up. You can give ME advice about 8 years after you've had your first child. Until that moment, you know next to nothing about parenting. Sorry.
You know what I hate?? People who look at you like you're an asshole because your child is in the middle of the isle, forcing them to slow down (or- GOD FORBID- STOP) in their hell-bent shopping tracks while i take my 5 year old by the hand, and pull them aside. You know what I could "do without"? People in a foul-ass mood shopping. Why don't you just stay at home until a better mood strikes?
Kids happen. They exist. We all started out as one. I know that there is a segment of this population that pretty much hates children. I have no sympathy for you. Go find a retirement community. Go live at Club Med. I'm forced to attempt to raise my children in this smult-filled society. Where freedom of speech ensures that my children know what strip clubs are at the tender age of 6. No place is sacred, and I have to live in a constant state of awareness for the safety and innocence of my children. That a few curmudgeons have to have their ganders up at watching a child pitch a fit every now and then, so be it. I could CARE LESS that it bugs you. Matter of fact, next time one of my children seems to be at a breaking point, I might just take 'em to Target ON PURPOSE.
(not edited for clarity or anything ... I'm posting this while I'm good and pissed.)