These are mean streets. A friend of a friend came to visit and was surprised at how nice New Yorkers were…except when you got in their way on the sidewalk. Amen: get out of my way, tourists and slow people. I have to get to daycare before 6 pm and I have about 45 seconds per block. I will use my laser eyes to destroy you, if necessary. However, this is tame compared to leaving daycare. Because then I’m armed with the stroller (pronounced “zee strohler”).
K-Pants and I seem like an innocent picture—the sidewalk equivalent of an old lady in the freeway slow lane—a woman in a furry, winter pig hat pushing a Graco stroller with an adorable baby in three layers of fleece. How cute! Until we cut you off and clip your ankles.
Pretend like you are a tourist from Des Moines, Iowa walking down the street in the Theater District. Here come K-Pants and I. You think: “A baby! So adorable! How do they raise kids in New York City?!” By this time, you start to wonder if you should move out-of-the-way or if I will swerve with the stroller, but it’s already too late. I’m coming too fast. You’ve eaten too many hot dogs. “Oh my God! Helen! [your sister from Muncie] That woman ran over my Aerosoles!”