Bad Parents R Us

He was a tall, ruddy, handsome man who emerged from the downtown QuickMart as my kid-crammed stroller and I wheeled up the ramp. Shelby had been muttering sweet nothings for the last block and I had grown weary of the noise. Just as we stopped, I failed to notice that she had raised herself up to a standing position on the front foot rest of the stroller. I had one eye on the enormous line of customers inside the store and the other eye on Ana's snot covered nose swaying dangerously near my sweater, when I yanked the stroller around to hear just what my 4 year old had to say. Like I said, neither eye was focused on her standing position when I swirled the stroller out from under her and she lurched onto the blacktop, arms full of her sandals.
As I ran over to her dramatic sprawl on the ground, the ruddy stranger gave me a sly grin as he grabbed his rusted old ten speed. "Isn't it always in front of a crowd of people that you do that?" he smiled, "Ya know, when you look like a bad parent in public."
And then, while I digested his insult, he pulled his grubby little toddler onto his back, the boy automatically latching his little arms around the man's neck signifying he was a pro at this dangerous means of transport. Then the man swung a leg over his rusty bike, adjusted the little boy on his back and road across the parking lot.
"Did he just call me a bad parent?"

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