So, we go into a fancy restaurant and the receptionist asks how many in our party.
“Two, and a baby,” I reply.
The waiter asks that we follow him and we proceed to walk about twenty miles to the back of the restaurant in a corner room – filled with several other couples with babies, and a few teenagers in shabby clothing. A kid’s menu and a high-chair were already at the table when we got there.
Back of the bus – again.