Alison goes to gymnastics on Monday evenings, and we all love everything about it. Except that (you knew there had to be something, right?) I have to keep Blythe occupied in a very small waiting area for an hour, dangerously close to her bedtime.
There are usually a few other siblings in the waiting area as well, and two in particular usually catch my eye. They are both around 3 years of age, and their moms are very obviously friends. Typically, the moms sit at the dividing wall, facing the gym, and the kids play, behind them. All very well and good, right? I’d be chatting with my friend too, if there was one around.
However. I had to draw the line on Monday and I tried to do it in the absolute best manner possible. What I got in return was out and out hostility.
Here’s the scene:
Blythe and I are playing on the little 4×4 rug that designates the “play area” of the waiting room. I see one of the moms open a huge tub of something for the two girls to share. Oh, crap! It’s popcorn. No matter, I’ll just make sure Blythe stays on this side of the very small waiting area.
The two girls play and eat, play and eat – and if you’ve ever seen little kids eat popcorn, every third or fourth kernel falls to the floor, where it gets ground up by their shoes. Oh well, right? I’ll really keep Blythe over here by me. But I do hope they’ll help the kids pick up that mess, for the gym’s sake.
Oh good! One of the moms told her daughter she needed to clean up the popcorn mess. So she runs past us, into the gym to get some paper towels. And then she runs back, forth, back, forth across the little rug at least ten times. Because: a three year old thinks that getting paper towels wet and then wiping down the bench IS cleaning up. Still, the two women don’t notice.
Sh*t, now the other little girl is in on the action. Back and forth, little shoes covered in popcorn are running across the little rug. I place Blythe on my lap, and hope she won’t squirm too much. Only 15 minutes to go.
Now the girls have noticed I got out goldfish crackers for Blythe, and they stand in front of us. They ask if they can share Blythe’s snack. I only brought a few, so I tell them that next time I’ll bring enough for everybody. They are cool with that, but now they want to sit with us and touch Blythe’s toys. Touch Blythe’s hands and legs and arms and face and head with their popcorn-covered hands, leaving bits of popcorn in their wake.
I start to panic. I get out Blythe’s bottle and tell the girls that Blythe is done playing. We leave the rug to sit on the only available bench, directly behind the two women, with Blythe on my lap. The little girls go tell their mommies that Blythe has only a small amount of snack (so nice of them, really). One mommy turns around to face me and smiles.
I say, “Are you the one who brought the popcorn?” in the nicest, friendliest way possible.
“No,” she replies, pointing to her friend, “would you like some?” again, so nice!
“Thank you so much, but no… my daughter is allergic.”
By this time, the other mom has turned to face me, as well.
“Do you think you could do me a favor?” I ask, in my sweetest, kindest voice, “Would you mind not bringing popcorn on Mondays? She’s allergic and now she can’t play, because there’s popcorn on the floor. I’m really sorry, I know it’s a pain, but it’s so tough to keep her occupied on my lap!”
Eye roll. Scowl. Huff and puff as she slams the lid closed on the popcorn container and barks at her kid to start picking up the popcorn.
“No, no! It’s OK, she’s already on my lap for the rest of today, don’t worry about it! I’m just asking for next time.”
Eye roll. Scowl. Huff and puff as she picks up handfuls of popcorn off the ground. No answer.
Then they have their girls sit next to them at the half wall, the bottoms of their little shoes pointing at me, revealing little bits of popcorn. I sort of smile.
The two women lean toward each other, whispering. Before, I could hear every word of their conversations, because they were talking over the noise of the gym. One of them turns completely toward her friend, her profile toward me.
Good thing I can read lips, huh? She said, “I know, what a bitch.”
So tell me, was I rude or reasonable?
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