Eat Your Breakfast, Beeatch

How long was this chick going to glare at my baby before my mother bear claws came out?

Start your watch. Ready?

9:15:01 a.m. - My sister and I and our two angelic boys, ages 1 and 2, sit down in a posh restaurant inside the lobby of a hip hotel in NYC, where we had just spent the night. We realize that everyone in the restaurant is either an NBC executive, C-list actor, or ad executive, all preparing for a huge NBC fall show presentation across the street, called the NBC Upfront.

9:15:02 a.m. - My son points out the lovely chandelier overhead and his face lights up. "Daht," he squeals. A woman in her late 30s at the table next to us looks as if she just sipped some spoiled milk. But she's staring at my baby. She looks back at her friend. Then my baby. Her coffee. Then my baby.

9:15:03 a.m. - "See that bitch over there?" I mouth/whisper to my sister. "Yeah, why does she keep staring over here?"

9:15:04 a.m. - We place our drink orders. My boy is hungry and I start fishing frantically through my purse for some sort of "breakfast" before breakfast. She stares. She glares. Now her friend is staring too.

9:15:05 a.m. - I pull out a toy truck, a tiny baby book with my son's teeth marks on the corner and finally, banana and brown rice in a pouch. My sister's eyes dart between me and "Frau Farbissiner" (Ms. Miserable) at the next table. "She's still staring."

9:15:06 a.m. - "Go grab a bagel at the buffet, don't worry about her."

9:15:07 a.m. - I change my tactic of ignoring Frau and I meet her steely eyes head on. I don't know whether this bitch has a bum ovary or just a bad attitude. How could she possible detest my lovable son and adorable nephew (who, by the way, has the sophistication and vocabulary of a middle aged man)? It's not like they're launching banana chunks in her direction, and at this point, if they were, I would count to "20 Mississippi" before I intervened. You know what? I don't care what her story is.

9:15:08 a.m. - I tell my sister, loudly now, "If she looks over here one more time, that's it."

9:15:09 a.m. - DING DING. I glare over at her and say loudly and obnoxiously, "They're pretty cute, aren't they?" I smirk at her and then fluff my son's curly mop of hair. She looks bewildered and pathetic. "They're actually NBC executives, preparing for the Upfront today," I added, just for my own amusement.

9:15:10 a.m. - That shut her up. She didn't throw any more daggers our way. Glare at me? Fine. Mess with my son and my nephew? You're risking life or limb.

9:16:11 a.m. - We realize Frau is not speaking English. She probably didn't understand a thing I just said. But the beauty of nonverbal communication is that one's intentions are abundantly clear. I understood her and she understood me. And, I'm pretty sure she got my real message:

EAT YOUR BREAKFAST, BITCH!