I have a mild to moderate version of RBF: That’s resting bitch face to those of you not in the know. The perks of this are plentiful (though if one more person tells me to “smile!” I might commit violence slash become a hermit),  but I am most appreciative that something about my grill made it so that no one touched my pregnant stomach (except okay, one woman in my building I’d never seen before who got down on her knees and kissed my 7 month belly while praising Jesus and/or fetus in Spanish. This RBF didn’t know what to do with that so she did nothing except maybe mumble a meek thank you). My trusty RBF has also meant that in my nearly 10 years as a parent, not once have I gotten a comment like “Your daughter should be wearing a hat!” or “Why don’t you have socks on your baby?!” or the like. If someone thought to say that to me, something about my mug stopped them cold. #Winning.

But there are two weak links in my RBF lifestyle.  The first involves moments where I am out and about enjoying myself. Then my guard is down and/or my RBF is in hiding because I’m, well, laughing and smiling and having fun. This might lead people to conclude that I am okay with their unsolicited advice.  To be clear, I am not.

And here lies a natural segue to the second weak link: Old people. Here I am talking mostly about the 80 year-old plus crowd, though I do think that this particular type can be as young as 72. This crew does not give one shit what your face looks like, either because their RBF trumps yours or because they are old and cranky and have Rights. Mostly I respect the crank. These people have lived, man. I get it. So I can handle standing behind an old woman arguing with the Zabar’s fish dude that no, no, not *that* piece of white fish, that’s the worst one. The other one. No the other one. Can’t you see where I’m pointing? Or the fact that they can be quite aggressive with their use of the cane they may or may not actually need. Okay! Power to you all. In fact, props. If I could get away with any of that today, I’d be all over it, and I look forward to the day when I can scream out my opinions without abandon  (e.g. “You just hit me when you walked by and didn’t say anything, you rude young man,” as I heard just yesterday).

But when the two RBF weak links converge, bad things happen. I had the pleasure of learning this first-hand last Saturday when an octogenarian blind-sided me by reproaching my parenting in front of my two kids. It all started with….wait, I have no idea.

Just as an aside, my rule about kids in restaurants is this: Only take them if they can behave. I have no interest in watching your children race all over restaurants or in listening to them fight with you about what they do or don’t have to eat, or in sitting next to crying/screaming babies. I’m sure you don’t either. As such, my kids do well when we take them out to dinner because if they don’t, they go home. My friends have similar policies because we are normal and courteous human beings who don’t think our kids are cute when they act like animals.

Back to Saturday. There we were, two adults and four children chatting and laughing and minding our beeswax. That is, until an elderly woman felt the need to get up from her own table (right next to ours) and inform me that “as a grandmother,” she felt she had the right, nay, the authority, to tell me that my son was about to poke his eyes out with the small straws he and his friend were playing with, and that I should really have him/them quit it.  For the record, boy child did not blind himself/others with a straw nor was he running with said straw, nor was there any commotion around the straw. Nor, should you be curious, was the straw made of iron/wood/glass or any sort of material known to maim medium sized children.

But the reproach was most shocking not because I have perfect angels for children (though like I said, zero tolerance restaurant policy), but because because until that moment, they were doing nothing wrong. There were not the standard warning/judgmental glares that I myself have been known to dole out.  It was seemingly out of the clear blue. I was initially willing to let the admonishment go because, well, the speaker was old. But then – THEN – the woman went back to her seat and her table (consisting of what I presumed was her spouse and three surly mofos in their 50s-6os) *applauded* her.

It was on, people. I won’t go into many details because they don’t really matter. I will say this: It did get ugly (one particularly loathsome gentlemen immediately started screaming that we were “awful parents,” an yes, my friend and I did get up and give a piece of our collective minds to their table, maybe while using semi wild hand gesticulations). The management did get involved….and the 84 year-old and her cronies did leave. Rather quickly. And first. Which, as my daughter pointed out, means we won.

So word to the wise: Don’t mistake any joy on my face for an opening to criticize me or my children.  Because underneath lies the RBF, and underneath the RBF is a whole lot more. Judge away, I know I do. Just do it silently.