Don’t come for me in a Friendlys.

To the gentleman sitting behind us at Friendlys, I know you wanted me to apologize because my kids were loud and annoying at dinner. I saw the looks when you saw they took off their shoes and talked loudly about butt farts.

Here’s the thing: I’m at a Friendlys. Do you think I’m here because my life is glamorous and I enjoy fine dining and good food. No. I’m here because there is a universal understanding that if your eating at a Friendlys, your kids get to be adorable little psychopaths. If you don’t like it, upgrade to Applebees.

Also, at no point did I judge for being two childless men in their 40’s eating at a friendlys. I didn’t questions the life choices that brought you here. Maybe you like cold fries and balloons. Maybe your one of those man-babies who enjoy reliving their childhoods and are just biding time till you can go cry yourself to sleep in your adult sized crib. That’s fine. None of my business. But I don’t go to man-baby conventions and act all pissed off because there’s a bunch of men acting like babies.

Also, if you thought my 1.5 year old was going to correct her behavior because of your passive aggressive mumbling and eye rolling, Rest Assured: my 1.5 year old cares about one thing and one thing only: Elmo. If your not Elmo, you and your reasonably priced hamburger can fuck right the fuck off.

I do understand we live in a society that has rules and I’m perfectly willing to follow them. I want my kids to grow up and respect other people’s space and time. Right now though, I want them to be kids. To laugh loud, not wear shoes, tell poop jokes. This is it. This is when they get to do that and your bitterness or unreasonable expectations will not dampen my kids sunshine. Not today and not at a fucking friendlys.

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