Oh My Kosh!

When the waitress told me I could sit at any table I wanted, I chose the one farthest away from the one with the most children. As I scanned over the menu, I became sad. I noticed that my favorite entree--Tastee Liver N' Chips Platter, Piggy Eater Sized--was discontinued after a mere 2 month appearance on the menu. But I also became sad because I knew that no matter what I did in life, there will always, always, always be children around me.

This is not to say I disdain children. I find it impossible, however, not to turn my nose up at the ones who think howling will draw food closer to their mouths--and the ones who morph into Osh Kosh Cantankerous trolls when strangers, how dare they!, accidentally make eye contact with them. Strangers such as myself prefer much more meaningful experiences like listening for their names to be called by restaurant hostesses than to establish some dull exchange with a self-muting child. Yet these children always seem to think that all adults are interested in cajoling them into smiling or saying something innocently clever (the chances of which are exasperatingly low). Such childish presumption, I stress, should never be rewarded by parental attention! Parents should simply inform their children that the adult has little interest in anything but herself. A cheerful pat on the child's back may follow to ease the child's deserved embarassment.

I was a bit of a troll myself, as you may have guessed. I was also one of these children who did not enjoy children-lovers. I hated answering questions about my teacher's name, what grade I was in, if I did well in school, and if I could tie my shoes all by myself. Even at the tender age of 6, I recognized a lame question when it was posed to me. It was worse when I answered factually, and the children-lovers patronized me further. How unbearable! I couldn't wait to grow up!

As an adult now, I make a conscious effort not to betray Trollish Sylvia by being a silly-toned, dumb-talker-to'er of children. Recently I watched a woman my age ask little Hannah who her teacher was and then lie to the little Hannah by saying that so-and-so was the best teacher around. That day young Hannah equated "best teacher around" with "giver of Ds and Fs on dictation tests". If only Trollish Sylvia fought off Liar Liar Woman-My-Age's Pants on Fire in time. Hannah says your love is whack, lady!