When my two children were toddlers, we couldn't afford to go out to fancy restaurants and if we could have, we sure wouldn't have wanted our kids along to spoil our special night out. Yesterday was my wife's birthday, so I treated her to a surprise dinner out at one of Portland's fanciest eateries. Imagine my frustration when you, Mr. and Mrs. Inconsiderate Rich Dumbass, allowed your three-year-old to scream through most of our meal. I know you felt very superior about your enlightened parenting approach—I could tell from the smug look on your face as you rationally, repeatedly reassured the screaming brat that you understood their feelings, asked them to please calm down and continued to eat your dinner. But the kid didn’t get the hint and continued to shriek. The next time you decide to take your kids to a restaurant with an average tab of $100 per person, maybe you can use some of that enlightenment of yours to consider your fellow diners and take the little shit outside to practice your parenting. You know what? It wasn’t really the kid who was being a shit—he was just doing what kids do—it was YOU!
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