Thursday, May 21, 2009

Open letter to the babies of this city

Dear NYC one-year-old,

You're the worst.

First off, you are loud. Not even cool loud. Annoying loud. Here I am trying to enjoy brunch and you come strolling in on your stroller and because you don't get a window seat you feel like you've got to cry about it. You came here in a stroller! That's the modern day palanquin and only goddess babies should be riding those. So why are you crying? Life isn't so hard on you.

You're crying because you just took a poop. And you want everyone to know. I'm trying to eat one-year-old. I love brunch and you ruined it. You took a shit and started wailing so your mom takes you out of your stroller and starts changing you IN THE BOOTH. That means your poop is not only in my direct line of sight it is where I sometimes sit. I don't even blame your mom though because she just wanted you to shut up. Almost as much as I did.

Secondly, you're not as cute as everyone says you are. I see your little wrinkly arms and legs. They make you look like a carrot. I don't know which NYC modeling gig you're trying to get baby but all that coke and anorexia is not good for you. I would focus on that SAT prep your parents keep pushing on you instead. I hear it's taught by Leonardo of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Third, you smell.

In conclusion, call me when you're turning two. We can have a party to celebrate the end of your wretchedness. I know a good magician for it. In the meantime, don't come to brunch. Brunch is sacred in New York.


For more information on how babies can ruin your day click here.

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