Mother Bears

As a consequence of my being an employee of the University of Texas, I now receive complimentary emails about local “Cool Happenings!”
So Andy and I found ourselves at the Lady Bird Johnson “Luminaries” exhibit where the Austin Philharmonic Orchestra played traditional Christmas music and, following a long, candle-in-a-paper-bag lined trail, we found an outpost where young girls played the harp. Then a children’s choir performed. But their performance was coarse, even vulgar by comparison. This is when Andrew and I decided to don monocles and top hats, muttering, “Pish posh! This caustic routine is nothing but a bawdy cake song!” grumbling and grumbling.
I should also note that this event welcomed a near inappropriate sum of toddlers. Upon exiting, I walked right into the path of a camera flash. Walking away, I realized that I had been photographed and that a mother had meant to photograph her perfect blond child. Let’s call her Madison. I turned around to hear the woman complaining, “Well thanks, I was just trying to take a picture…” But let me tell you. This woman was not thanking me. She was being SARCASTIC. (!!!)
I was reminded of stories of feeble campers who have wandered off the trail, and, finding themselves bisecting an invisible line between mother bear and cub, are promptly disemboweled. Except, I was not disemboweled. This woman was the doughy, suburban equivalent of a mother bear, who rather than disembowel, opts to offer up vague, flagging cattiness.