In Los Angeles, there is a skim of politeness amongst the Trader Joe’s/Whole Foods patrons. As a sleep/fun deprived parent, unsolicited advice should be returned with a  polite f**k you smile. Keep moving like a shark to avoid the little old ladies, munchy-crunchy hippies, overly waxed-botoxed-collagen lipped 40 something moms, nice but nosy nannies. Lulu was about 8 months old. She absolutely hated having her face touched.  For Lulu, this means screaming at the top of her lungs and serving the offender with a roundhouse kick to the face. We were in the Trader Joe’s. Miracle of miracles, she was happily sitting in the cart. She had a runny nose of the broken faucet variety. I sense the little old lady with a tissue in my periphery.

Old Lady: She has a runny nose.

Me: Thanks. I’m aware. She doesn’t like her face touched.

Old Lady: But, she has a runny nose!

Me: Thanks again. She’s okay.

Old Lady’s hand goes towards Lulu’s face. I block her. I try to box her out. We are doing a bizarre dance in the frozen food aisle. I manage to dodge her. Lulu and I make it to the check out counter. I win. The Little Old Lady is lurking behind the chocolates. It’s too late.  Lulu is solo in the cart. I’m trapped behind the cart.

Old Lady: I’m just gonna wipe her nose.

Old Lady’s hand goes in again!

Me: Please don’t do that. She doesn’t like it.

The clean, handsome, helpful, All-American checker of Middle Eastern descent intervenes.

Checker: Lady! The mom don’t want it. Leave her alone.

Old Lady exits. My hero.