Me: So this woman was talking to me at Gymboree, telling me, like, WAY too much about her son and his problem with biting. Apparently he is getting asked to leave his day care because of it. She goes "Look at that angel over there. Can you believe he's left scars?" I look over at her son. A) He's probably 3 years old, full head of curly crazy-man hair, DEFINITELY wearing size 6 diapers already IFYOUKNOWHWATI'MSAYIN--

Ryan: --I don't--

Me: --B) he's got this glazed-over-dead-eye-shark expression on his face and he's closing in on Chicken with his mouth already half open.


Ryan: Really?

Me: I was like, "CHICKEN? CAN YOU COME SEE MOMMY PLEASE. NOW. PLEASE," and Chicken is ignoring me so I'm reaching out to put my forearm between Jaws and Chicken. I figure kid's got to prefer a nice fleshy forearm to a toddler skull.

He's an angel. Look at that face. From 30-40 feet away, ideally.

Ryan: Why would she tell you her kid's a biter?

Me: Better to be honest, probably. First rule of spin is get ahead of the story, right? Plus, it seemed like she really needed somebody to talk to this afternoon.


Ryan: Never underestimate the loneliness of a parent. We spend all our time with animals, basically. 


Me: Yep, We're zookeepers. 


Ryan: Throw the meat on the ground and run.

Me: To Gymboree. To talk about it.