Why it sometimes sucks to be female…

Ever see a site called PostSecret? People make these postcards, with some deep dark secret or confession, and they are posted, anonymously, on the site.

Well, I can identify with the one pictured above. Just change *movie theater* to *ballpark*. And although I don’t look old enough to be someone’s grandma, I still look like a nice enough, respectable woman. I mean, I don’t dye my hair weird colors, dress goth, wear pounds of makeup, or anything like that. I look *safe*. Just like a nice person who does nothing more during the summer but go to ball games, and lounge in the yard at home on our teak furniture, while my husband mans the BBQ, as is the *manly* thing to do.

They don’t knows me very well, does they?

Anyhoo…I think that just because I look *respectable*, parents think that it is safe to plop their brats next to me, and expect me to babysit them while they proceed to ignore them. Since I didn’t give birth to them, and no one asked me nicely or offered to pay me for babysitting services, I try to ignore them, too. It just gets difficult when they start invading my personal space by climbing on the seats, flailing arms and legs about, throwing/spilling food and drink, etc.

We prefer to have seats on the aisle whenever possible, thanks to the new ticketing systems that most teams now have, that let you pick your own seats from the seating chart. Usually Mike sits on the aisle, and I sit in the second seat.

Then a family will come, and they will plop the brattiest kid next to me, and the parents will sit as far away from that kid as possible. This is a sign of true assholery…GOOD parents will put the kids between them, as in: Mom, kid, kid, kid, Dad. When I see something like: Mom, Dad, kid, kid, kid, ME, I know I’m in for trouble. It never fails.

So what can I do, short of making myself over so I look like Morticia Addams?

Easy. Change seats with Mike. This works almost EVERY time. See, it was safe enough to plop Widdle Pwechus next to this nice, safe-looking female. But all of a sudden, s/he is next to a MAN…and aren’t all men named Chester the Molester? You’d be amazed at how fast most of these families change the seating arrangement, with Mom or Dad taking the seat next to Mike.

This probably worked a lot better last year that it will this year, when Mike still had long hair that he kept in a ponytail. But now Mike has cut his hair and looks more *respectable*. A guy with silver hair in a ponytail looks, to many people, like some sort of a degenerate, that you wouldn’t want your kids anywhere near. I guess these parents are so dense that they don’t realize that I am WITH that degenerate guy; they just see me as FREE BABYSITTER, and the one who has to deal with Bratford’s physical assaulting.

We haven’t had to do this so far this year, but the season is still young, and I’m sure we’ll have to try it eventually. When we go to the PawSox game a week from today, where we’ll have aisle seats, I will take the aisle seat and let Mike take the second one, for a change. I know that since it’s a holiday weekend, there will be lots of families with kids there, and no doubt one will be next to us. Let’s see how they arrange the parents and kids, with Mike sitting inside the row and not on the aisle. It might save us a lot of aggravation!

Anyhoo, to all parents who take kids to games: I DO NOT WANT TO BABYSIT OR EVEN SIT NEXT TO YOUR BRATTY KIDS. I may look nice, but inside me beats an evil black heart.  Just because I am female does not mean that I like your kids.  Chances are, I probably WON’T like them.  If your kids act like human beings and not savage beasts, then I MIGHT like them. If your kids do something stupid and get hurt, I will not defend you, I will offer to testify on behalf of the ballpark when you file that lawsuit. I will not touch your kid to save him or her from injury, because if I do, you’ll accuse me of trying to molest the kid, and have me thrown in jail. And you’ll sue me, as well.

You made them, you watch them. Kids should sit between Mom and Dad, and not with me. I refuse to accept any responsibility for them, especially when they throw a piece of cotton candy or fried dough, and it lands in my $5.75 beer, the one that I know you’ll never reimburse me for.

If they can’t sit reasonably still and behave in a civilized manner, keep them home. Or at least keep them away from me, okay?

Thank you.