Dear Fellow Patrons of the Fabulous Little Cuban Restaurant,

I know.

On Saturday night, through no real fault of my own, I became one of THOSE parents.  I’ve never been one of THOSE parents before, and I assure you it was as traumatizing to me as it was to you.

You see, we purposely chose this restaurant because not only does it have fantastic food, but also an open-air dining patio.  This patio enables us to make a quick break for it in case our 18 month old gets squirmy.  We are well aware that the mood swings of a toddler are, shall we say, unpredictable.

Anyhoo, the lovely people at the table next to us, you were being very sweet to her. Especially when she unleashed her version of “hello” on you, which is to basically scream at you until you are forced to acknowledge her.  It’s cute the first time she does it, but gets reeaallly old by the third time.  I’m well aware of this.  You were even playing peek-a-boo with her, which is really above and beyond the call of duty.

And that is why I felt especially bad when, in a fit of pique and knowing that her Dad was distracted, my daughter managed to grab our bread basket and hurl it at you and your table.  She wasn’t trying to be mean, she is merely extremely interested in the laws of physics.

But, I guess I didn’t take into account that even though the open-air thing is good for getaways, it also means the tables are sort of scrunched in closer together than they would be at a normal type of restaurant.

You truly did not deserve to have pieces of French bread all over your table, and I was mortified.

We apologized to you profusely, and you were extremely gracious about it, which sort of made me feel worse.

All I can say is, she doesn’t get it from my side of the family.

Thanks again,

Glinda