At Starbucks with Tuck, I happily sipped an iced latte while he napped in the stroller. An older woman smiled at the sight of me, a phenomenon this article so accurately explains, and couldn't help herself. 'What a cute baby!' she exclaimed. I smiled politely, continued enjoying my beverage. 'He can't be yours,' she stated, more to herself than for my benefit, but of course requiring me to respond (in law, there is a rule of evidence that allows lack of a reply to be used against you to prove guilt, if a reasonable person in your situation would have replied to contradict the assertion). 'Yes, he is mine,' I said politely, not lingering with my eye contact to convey the sentiment that I am enjoying a rare moment of peace, and do not wish to engage in further conversation with you. She looked surprised, ruffled, and then could not take a hint and be on her way. 'But you're so young,' she countered, not to compliment me, but more to buck at what she now was beginning to find unbelievable, and perhaps deviant. She forced me to pause, sigh, and look up once again. 'I'm 30' I stated, without elaboration, at which point she seemed satisfied that she was not witnessing a filming of some disturbing reality show or whatever atrocity she thought might be going on (she clearly does not watch MTV's 16 and Pregnant). She smiled politely, and continued away to order her coffee concoction.
I suppose the drug store brand eye cream I've been forced to substitute for my beloved Clinique in recent months does a good enough job. (However it's also quite possible that the woman has not upgraded her eyeglass prescription all that recently and is perhaps due for a visit to the nearest optometrist.)