You know her. The one that lets her child crawl around the top of the table at Outback Steakhouse. The one that has decided that once those really long knives are taken off the table, it's "safe enough."
So there The Boy was crawling on the top of the table. When the waitress showed up, it was clear that a) she was an only child, or b) she was an only child.
W: Oh dear. Hi, welcome to Outback.
I could give you a blow by blow of all of my totally fake apologies ("I'm sooooo sorry. He is just soooooo independent") but you would be able to smell my insincerity from a million miles away. Reality is that I wanted a 22 oz. Sam Adams and I didn't want to be bothered with the likes of my offspring while I nursed the only thing standing between me and a nervous breakdown.
"Step AWAY from the ledge."
The kid crawled all over the table. Then he tried to touch the lightbulb hanging well within his reach. His father checked to see how hot it really was and verified that it was hot enough to learn a lesson about "hot" but a lesson that would not be coupled with a trip to children's hospital for a skin graft.
Then DAD decided that maybe he wasn't sure how hot it was and he touched it again. Right after I told The Boy NOT to touch it.
K: Jesus, Mary and JOSEPH! What in God's NAME are you doing? I just told him not to touch it and now you are touching it. Like he's going to be able to keep his hands off now.
D: I wasn't sure if it was REALLY hot or not.
11 months or 39 years. There is no difference. Still checking the lightbulb again to see how hot it is. Or is it a blond thing?