Going out to dinner with a baby is hard. This is probably why we never ever did it until recently. You never know when you might suddenly need to stop sipping your Shiraz and slip out the back door if -- nay when -- Jr. starts making enough of a fuss to make the other patrons hate you. And as I was someone who wasn't so fond of the babies before having one, I feel Hugo's every public peep like a thunderclap.
But now, with the nice weather, outdoor cafes are calling. Dining al fresco, you needn't worry about baby's squeals bouncing off of the walls. The occasional piece of bread that flies? Well it's not a scandal, it's a pigeon's repast! And if there's a diaper smell, it's a cinch to blame it on any one of the homeless lads that waft by.
But seriously, the very bestest part of eating on the sidewalk, is the free floor show. Because for Hugo, nothing beats vehicles for pure entertainment and as you can plainly see, he's a bus groupie. Please note how he literally stops breathing -- stops mid-cough -- when I mention the word "bus."
