Families & Babies & Strollers. Oh My!

The Upper East Side is over populated with families pushing strollers. So much so that you can’t even friggin’ walk down the street without tripping over one of them. You can’t even get past them. They take up the whole damn block.

The hot husband, the frumpy wife, the three-year-old and the stroller. I hate them. I hate them all. Is that wrong of me? Am I a bad person? Am I just bitter because they are not me? I don’t know. But that’s the way I feel and I’m not the only one. My other single BF’s on the UES also feel the same way.

You can’t spit without hitting a pregnant woman and her stroller. What’s up with that? I thought there was an influx of single women in Manhattan. Why do all of them seem to be pregnant or breast-feeding? I’m sick and tired of it. And they are all over 35. I’ll tell you that. They are not young.

And the fathers in their plaid shorts and flip-flops are so attentive, they really piss me off.

Not to mention, the kids are brats. On the bus, on the train, on the street, in restaurants. The kids don’t shut the fuck up. Their parents or nannies let them be loud and disrupt the whole place. Whatever happened to, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Whatever happened to that? That’s how I was brought up. If I made a peep in a public place, I’d get my head handed to me. Right there. In the public place. And then again when we got home.

Now, the children run the roost. We value their opinion. Why? They’re two! What the hell do they know? They don’t even know right and wrong. They’re never taught it.

Time out my ass.

And I’ve learned not to go to a restaurant at six o’clock. If you do, you’re in for family night. Frumpy Mom, hot Dad, screaming two-year-old, breast-feeding infant. So much for a relaxing dinner.

I hate them and I think they should be banned from restaurants, along with the people who bring their dogs out to eat.