So, tonight, after a full day of birthday fun at the pool and washing the dogs and rescuing Shelby from her adventure down the street, we decided to take a trip to south Huntsville for the evening.

Our first stop was our introduction to Red Robin.  Although our Red Robin has been open for a month or more now, we have yet to pass by it and not see throngs of people waiting to get in.  But our plans to see an early movie had us ready to eat dinner at 4:30, so we headed on in.  We had a short wait and sat down to.. quite literally.. the best burger I may have ever had.  Bryan, The Boy, and I said not a word other than to nod our eager approval as we inhaled our food.  Again.. it was the stuff dream burgers were made of.

Then we went to the Rave.

I’ll be very specific.  We went to the 6:35 showing of Ratatouille, which we imagined would be only half full.  We were right.  There were people sitting behind us and next to us, but not much else.

The family that sat behind us went to work early in their seating, with TWO of their children repeatedly kicking my head.  I turned around several times to glare at the parents, who apologized each time.  Eventually, the movie started and the kicking.. lessened.

Then the MOTHER beside me, who had a five year old with her, began to FILE. HER. NAILS.  Through half an hour of the movie.  I glared.  I huffed.  I through a temper tantrum in my seat.  I said, “Ma’am.”  Nothing.  I would’ve been more accepting if she had even acknowledged that I was alive, but she just kept filing and looking straight ahead.

She only has ten fucking fingernails.  What in the world was she filing for thirty minutes?

Here’s my thing.  I know that children’s movies have a different set of rules.  It’s like children’s theatre.  There will be more shuffling.  There will be wayward talking.  There will be off and on crying and boredom.  I know that; this is not my first rodeo.

But taking your children to a movie is not an opportunity to shut down as a parent.  You did not pay for a ticket to check out for an hour and a half.  And yes, I can say that, because Bryan and I work dilligently to make sure that The Boy knows that we act on our best behavior in public.  At all times.  And if The Boy does NOT act accordingly, he is punished.  Or we leave.  But it does not continue.

So lady wearing a black shirt, jeans, and a manicure performed in the dark: I am sorry that even your child recognized that you were being rude and obnoxious (”Mom, STOP.”) and you were completely clueless.  I hope you read this.

Father who never followed up on your children kicking me in the goddamned head: I hope some awful accident removes your ability to have children, so that our herd is no longer populated by mongoloids without any social skills.  I hope you read this.

Oooh, and lady that I never mentioned who repeatedly checked her child’s oral wounds with her cell phone light through the movie: what the fuck?!  I hope you read this.

And everyone in the future who has ill-behaved children: I’m out to get you.