I'm at a coffee shop minding my own business trying to get some work done here.
Some lady's little shit... er, I mean little angelic toddler is running around pushing a stroller, bumping into me, opening up storage cabinets, taking things off of the shelf that he shouldn't be taking. And where's Mom? That question can be answered by turning my head 190 degrees and looking at her and her friends. Yak yak yak! Yak yak yak! Evan, come here honey! Don't do that now, baby. We'll leave soon. Yak yak yak! Yak yak yak yak!
I haven't even known Evan for 5 minutes and I already want to give him an Evan-sized plastic bag to go play with (I mean that in the most endearing way possible). I know, it's not his fault. It's his Mommy. She should know better. DUH - you're supposed to lock your kids in the closet if you want to go hang out with your soul sisters for coffee on a Saturday morning.
He just ran over my foot with that baby stroller. Evan: Come here by Uncle Micycle with that stroller again, please. I would like to play a game! Whoopie! It involves you, that stroller, some duct tape, and that set of stairs outside. It's fun! It's zany! It's a great time! It's called Evan's Extreme Roller Coaster Ride!
