When I was a child I made an observation: People's faces distort in direct proportion to the amount of stress you are under. The more upset you are, the weirder, more disturbing people look. It's also a fact that when you're sobbing uncontrollably the only people who want to comfort you are the ones who look like they're extras from a David Lynch film. This thought returned on Tuesday night as I sat on a bench outside the restaurant holding Olivia while she screamed "I'm hungry! I want a highchair!" She had a meltdown when waitress gave her a booster seat instead.
Now I'm sure to Olivia her reasons for wanting a highchair are perfectly rational and most likely have to do with the fact that her little brother Marshall was given one and Olivia deep inside wants to be the baby too. But even though she's "four now and taller," she really isn't in a place where she can analyze her motives. "I'm HUNGRY! LET. ME. EAT! I want a highchair!"
Every person who came out of the restaurant looked the other way and moved quickly to their cars. Except for this old woman with craters for eyes who looked like she most likely lived in a gingerbread house. Oh yes. She wanted to help. She bent down and leaned in towards us until she was three inches from our faces, the hairspray from her tease-job wafting unappetizingly close to our noses. "What's your problem little Missy?" Her sunken eyes rolling in two different directions. I absolutely swear they did. Two different directions.
I'm sure our screams are being measured in space even now.