Let me start by saying this post doesn’t have anything to do with wine. Rather, it has to do with what appear to be self-absorbed parents who have little to no control over their offspring’s behavior when dining out.  Don’t think I’m letting G’ma and G’pa off the hook either, but let’s face it, they could be completely deaf or even suffering from early stage Alzheimer’s, so I’ll save my wrath aimed at the geriatrics for another post…

Yeah, yeah, yeah, gallons upon gallons of ink have been spilled by others bemoaning the same thing, (namely poorly-behaved children), so I get it, really, I do. Now it’s my turn to spill a little something.  …namely, the beans.  Parents, listen up!

I’ll start with the rules. Happily, as it turns out, there is only one rule, and it is relatively simple to grasp:

If your child/children is/are under the age of five – yes five – then leave them at home with a babysitter. Period. Don’t argue. Do it.

There, like I said, simple. Oh, I can already hear the howls of self-righteous indignation! …heck, those sounds are almost identical to the ear-splitting shrieks coming out of that teary-eyed, runny-nosed demon spawn sitting ten feet away from me during a business lunch on Monday!

Sorry folks, but those of us who are sensible – and apparently exhibit a much, much lower sense of outright entitlement in public – figured this out long ago. We tracked down the neighborhood’s hidden treasure, (that would be a responsible tweener who’s looking for some spending money), and locked ’em into a long-term contract to hover nervously over our dear little Mason, or Dillon, or Piper, or Parker or whatever pretentious moniker we’ve saddled the tot with, so we – as well as everyone who’s within earshot of us – could have an enjoyable, relaxing, uninterrupted dining experience somewhere in the neighborhood – or maybe even across town…

…but, but, what about socializing dear little Hunter, Montgomery or Jayden and exposing them to exotic cuisine at an early age?
Nope.
…but, but, what if I/we can’t afford a babysitter, or can’t find a babysitter on such short notice?
Too bad.  Tough.

Find another way to broaden darling Madison’s or Grayson’s cultural horizons – I’m not interested in the ensuing fit the first time you decide to spring foie gras on them.  Not enough discretionary income to cover childcare for the evening?  Why in God’s name are you going out to eat?   Ugh, can’t get Britney to drop whatever she’s doing and accommodate your last-minute plea to babysit so you can go to [INSERT HOT NEW RESTAURANT NAME HERE] on Friday night?  Sucks to be you.

Well my FOMO-phobic, status-crazed, breeding pair of wanna-be hipsters, you’ll just have to spend Friday night at home tending to that precious, precious little Hadley, or Cooper, or Tucker or whatever-the-f**k overwrought token you clipped from Baby Names all by yourselves.  Place an order at True Food Kitchen and pick it up on the way home from work in that leased BMW 5-series you just signed for. I’m just sayin’…