Leesa the Busybody

Friday, I wrote about women changing babies on public tables. Kathi wondered why I did not say anything to the woman. Well, there were three women within one week, so I had three opportunities to say something, and, er, I did not say anything. Not at thing. Okay women, keep changing your babies on these tables; I won't say crap about the crap that your children are depositing.

The reason is simple: I said something once, several months ago, and the experience was anything but pleasant. I was not hoping for a response like this: "Oh, dear, thank you for pointing out the error of my ways. I had no idea feces was undesirable on eating surfaces. Not only will I take your advice, but I will sign up for a parenting class at the local college. Thanks, thanks, thanks." Okay, said without sarcasm. No, the interaction was not that pleasant. I can't remember what was actually said, but it included references about me, where she would like my nose, and a lot of dirty words. I left the encounter feeling violated. I learned my lesson: don't say anything to mothers concerning anything regarding their children, even if it is about changing them on tables meant for eating.

I had not learned my lesson as a busybody though. Not totally.

A few weeks ago, I was coming out of Wal-Mart. I so want the store to be something other than Wal-Mart, but it is already out there. Yes, I shop at the store that is destroying millions of "Mom and Pop" stores around the country, in little towns everywhere. But I shop there.

Anyway. Here I am, discretely leaving Wal-Mart, and I see a man with a baby in his lap, front-and-center of a pick-up truck. Wife is in the passenger seat, and I am thinking to myself, "No way are these two going to leave the parking lot with a little baby in the driver's lap. How irresponsible." For those of you who can't tell, I have a judgment side to me. Yes, I judge. I also think that child molestation and child pornography are wrong – and I know, a lot of you don't judge because you don't want to be judged. But I do judge, and I don't mind if I am judged. The woman who nearly made me cry in the situation above judged me, and I was not too keen on the judgment, but that's life.

So trying to be helpful and caring, I approach the truck.

"Pardon me," I say, probably softer than I intended.

I wrap lightly on the driver's side window to get noticed.

"Pardon me," I repeat, and make eye contact with the father.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have your cute baby in your lap. I hope you don't intend on driving, even a short distance, with her in your lap. You see, a friend of mine lost her child in a similar way, and I just could not bear to pass you and not say anything."

The man did not look angry at all, as he said, "No, ma'am, we are just quieting her. My wife intends on feeding her before we leave."

With that, I thanked them and went to my car.

As I was pulling out of the space, I looked at them in my rear-view mirror, and saw them exiting right after me. He lied to me, and that beautiful baby was not in the car seat that I saw in their car. I just don't understand people, to have such a gift and not protect her.

I guess I judge and I am a busybody. Guess that makes me a bitch. But a bitch who cares about that little child; a bitch that doesn't really want to eat on a poop-y table or have others do so either.