Picky, Picky!

Grilled cheese. Spaghetti. Chicken tenders. Pizza. Fries.   This was my meal rotation for the bulk of my childhood.  Of course my parents fed me healthy stuff too, but if there was something on the menu that I didn’t like, I turned to the aforementioned staples to get me through.

I was very grateful that mine weren’t the sort of parents that make you sit there for hours with a meal you hate, having to eat every last bite to win your freedom.  That just seems cruel to me.  They were also very accommodating in terms of alternate meals. If I didn’t like the main course, I could have a can of spaghetti (I used to love that – strange), or a grilled cheese, or something like that instead.

Evil Restaurant Man

Following up on yesterday’s post, which involved a Miserable Old Lady chastising a child in a public play place for – oh no! – playing, today, I will introduce you to someone that I bet many of you have encountered in various incarnations:   Evil Restaurant Man.

Yes, this is the guy sitting next to you and your child in a restaurant who occasionally turns to give you not-so-subtle disapproving stares when your child breaks her silence, as if you’re the worst parent ever.