Yesterday was my wife's birthday, so I treated her to a surprise dinner out at one of Portland's fanciest eateries. Imagine my frustration when you, Mr. and Mrs. Inconsiderate Rich Dumbass, allowed your three-year-old to scream through most of our meal. I know you felt very superior about your enlightened parenting approach—I could tell from the smug look on your face as you rationally, repeatedly reassured the screaming brat that you understood their feelings, asked them to please calm down and continued to eat your dinner. But the kid didn’t get the hint and continued to shriek.
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