Recently I was standing in a coffee shop, MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS, when I heard someone going “Pssssssst! Psssssssst! PSSSSSSSSST!”

Naturally I did not turn around, because who answers a total stranger who psssts at you? (Here’s a clue: NOT ME.) Finally The Psssster said “HEY” and I turned to look. And also glare.

“Your boy has to go to the bathroom,” The Pssster said, pointing over at Bug, who was pushing a toy car around a table quietly. “I’m sorry?” I said, by which I meant “WTF did you just say to me about my own kid after psssssting at me for five minutes?”

“Your boy. He has to go. He’s holding himself,” The Pssster said with a great air of self righteousness.

“Hmmm, well, I think he’s ok, but thanks,” I said. (SEE HOW UNBEARABLY POLITE I AM.)

“Well, I’ve seen boys hold themselves like that and they always have to go to the bathroom,” she CONTINUED. I HOPE THE CAPS LOCK IS CONVEYING THE INDIGNATION I WAS FEELING AT THE TIME.

“Wow, really. That’s interesting. But I think he’s fine.” I turned pointedly back to what I was doing before she Psssssted Me Off.

“Well, alright. If you think so, then,” she said, with a totally unconvinced tone.

I decided it was time to leave.

And for the record, Bug didn’t need to go for another hour and a half. And when he did, he TOLD ME HIMSELF.

Because that‘s how he rolls, Psssster Lady.