A rich-toddler’s Dublin party

“I spend a fortune on babyccinos,” a woman named Sarah told me from behind her YSL sunglasses. We were at a toddler’s garden party and had moved one step beyond the small talk you usually make with randomers, the awkward… “How do you know so and so? Do you live nearby? Didn’t your husband finger me in a field a long time ago?” “I hear ya on the babyccinos,” I empathized. “We should just take them to the pub, like the good old days, feed them some Tayto and ten Cokes whilst we’re busy getting drunk and then drive them home.” I guffawed at my own wit. Sarah faked a grin. Had I crossed a line? Should child neglect and drunk driving not be raised at a toddler’s party to people that until an hour previously had been strangers? They were, in fact, still strangers. I mean, I’d never even seen Sarah’s eyes. For all I knew she could have bloody cesspools under there or some sort of perpetually rotating eyeballs in the style of something you’d see in a horror movie. <a href="https://medium.com/@Dublinmom101/a-rich-toddlers-dublin-party-f70fbb55b267">Read More</a>