Just Say No to Abuse Declaring War on Terrorism. So I'm in line at the supermarket perusing all the cool headlines in the more respectable publications, like SUN and Tabloid Magazine, when I hear the woman in front of me cooing and giggling and coochie cooing like it's going out of style. First response is to make sure her finger isn't under my chin. Second response is to see if she is hitting on my beloved fiance, Sharon.
Next response is an automatic headcount.
Turn on the heatseeking laser-guided kid locators hidden deep within all parents' eyelids, and see that my baby is smothering in this strange woman's cleavage. I make a grab for the kid, thinking only of the traumatic life-long mental damage resulting from that kind of scare, when the woman turns her rotund body away from me, facing the other direction, cooing just as much as when she started. I could, but she yanked him out of my grasp just as I was getting ready to staple his diaper together. She just looked at me like I was some kind of moron. I ran out of duct tape the LAST time she left us alone.