Dining with Banshees

I love children. I think they are tiny vessels of joy, wisdom and innocence, the kind you can never get once you cross that threshhold into adulthood (I think the bills kind of screw it all up). I love children so much that my partner and I are actually thinking of buying one soon, legally of course, just so we can be around that kind of insatiable curiosity on a regular basis.

But someone or something keeps sending little red flags my way, little moments that cause me to pause and think, "Am I really ready for this?" Dining in public seems to be the place where these flags pop up the most.

Recently, Sue and I were enjoying a lovely (well, edible food that required no effort on our part) meal at Olive Garden. Suddenly, I heard a shrill, piercing shriek that sounded what I imagine a hyena caught in a blender would sound like. I froze, partially because my eardrum had been perforated and I lost any sense of balance and partially because I was certain that someone had clearly been impaled by a fork or a coffee stirrer.

When I finally managed to take a look, I saw my biggest future fear staring right at me: a three year old child who clearly lost all sense of shame and reason. But even scarier was the look on his mother's face, a look of anger, embarrassment, shock, horror and pure mortification all combined into one large, throbbing vein on her forehead. I pitied the child, for I was sure that the mother's fury would soon be unleashed upon his joyful, wise and innocent little butt. The real shocker came in the following minutes, or rather, the real shocker actually never came. The mother.... did nothing.

Not a peep came from her mouth, nor even a tiny swat from her hand. She composed herself quickly and continued her dinner conversation with her friend, who was frantically searching for a graceful exit of some sort. She acted as though the 50+ diners burning a hole in the back of her head with their smoldering glares did not exist. She just disengaged entirely from the situation.

And eventually, so did we. One by one, the diners returned to their meals, some smiling in pity, others shaking their heads and wondering what has happened to the state discipline in the 21st century. Sue and I quietly finished our meal and left, too afraid to admit that the mother might one day be us and the wailing banshee our child.

After dinner, we stopped at Best Buy and picked up a pair of Bose earphones, the kind that blocks out all noise. We're going forward with the baby plan - we're just going to be better prepared...

Thoughts That Keep Me Awake at Night

What if a future civilizatiion discovers an episode of American Gladiator and bases all of their historical knowledge of us on that viewing?

If Sarah Connor killed the maker of the cyborgs, how do they keep coming back from the future in The Sarah Connor Chronicles?

If a train is traveling east at 95 mph, starting from point A, and a train traveling west at 80 mph starts from a point 150 miles west of point A, does anyone really care if I can figure out when they're going to meet?  Isn't that why we have schedules?  (I hope a brave students writes "I'll check amtrak online" to that question one day and I hope it's my nephew.)

How did Marisa Tomei win an Oscar?

If I actually retire at 65 instead of 72, how long will I have to eat cat food?

Somebody said "my nipples are bigger than pancakes" and I laughed so hard, I forgot who said it.  Damn......who said it??!?!

I can't believe I watched American Gladiator.....again......