The Sad Thing Is, it May Have Been Custom-Made

Story Sent in by Quentin:

Going into my first date at a restaurant with Kimberly, I knew that she had a two-year-old daughter, so that was no surprise. That first date went well (she left her daughter at home), and I had a nice time with her. It was during our second date at a moderately-populated park, however, that things tumbled downhill.

She had said that she'd bring her daughter along, which wasn't a big deal in and of itself. The "I don't think this is going to work out" moment occurred early on, when Kimberly showed up with her daughter, Melanie, in a stroller. Melanie wore a little, light blue shirt with a monochrome graphic on it of two clearly defined breasts (stretched right over the child's chest) and below them, the phrase, "Little Woman."

"This is Melanie," Kimberly introduced her daughter to me, then unbuckled her from the stroller and let her loose to run around in the park.

"That's quite a shirt," I said.

Kimberly said, "Oh, great. You have a problem with it, too? My mother hates it."

"It's okay, I guess," I said.

Kimberly asked, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's a little woman. Women have breasts. Deal with it."

"I have no problem with breasts."

"It's important to me that she forges an independent gender identity early on. She may be little, but she's still a woman. She's my little woman."

Then, as Melanie ran after a squirrel, Kimberly shouted at her, "Watch your breasts, Melanie Rose!"

People on benches, parents with children, yes, many heads turned toward us in that moment. Kimberly seemed oblivious of them and said to me, "If she repeatedly falls on her chest, her breasts might develop irregularly."

I nodded. In fact, I was very polite for the rest of our time together (after the park we had a light lunch). However, I didn't see her again.