The other day we were at a restaurant and I was walking Mazzy around before we got seated to lessen the upcoming blow of being stuck in a highchair for over an hour.
After doing a closely supervised lap to the bathroom and back, Mazzy saw a woman with a stroller walk in and beelined straight for them. "Hello!" she shouted as she reached out to touch the little boy's hand. I looked at the woman with a smile of comaraderie— a respite of understanding in a mostly non-family populated place.
The woman looked right back at me and said evenly— "Please don't let your child touch my child."
As a scurried my dirty-rejected-disease-ridden-hellion away, all I could think was— "What a fox on the beach!"