Spilt Infinitive

During the course of his twenty years working with young kids, the Gay Uncle has learned that there are certain inalienable rules governing children’s behavior. When running across a paved surface, a child will fall. When given a piece of chocolate cake, they will end up with frosting in their nose. And when asked open-endedly what they want to wear that day, they will choose something that closely resembles a Halloween costume or one of the Village People. So when his sister Roxy called to tell him the story of what transpired after a customer at her restaurant ordered a sixteen ounce fruit smoothie (served in a chilled pint glass) and gave it to her five year old, he was anything but shocked to learn that, after less than one sip, the beverage and its container ended up on the tile floor in a runny pile of yogurty shards. What was surprising was the way the child’s mother responded, grabbing the girl by her arm, dragging her feet through the mess, and yelling at her point-blank: “You are ruining my day.” This is akin to handing a child a fat red crayon, pointing them in the direction of a white wall, and then scolding them for “ruining my plaster.” (You gave her the gun, loaded it, and turned off the safety; should you really be surprised when it goes off?) Even more surprising was the way this mommy defied the unspoken kid rule–which covers ice cream, soda, and even smoothies: The first disastrous spill is always forgiven. When the waitress approached offering a no-cost replacement “Maybe in a smaller paper cup with a lid this time…?” the mother scowled at her daughter and shooed the server off. “No way. She is done here.”