Brustpolitik
A woman and her husband sat on a bench amongst the crowd of people waiting for tables to become available for breakfast. Other people scanned through newspapers, talked quietly, or watched out the window.
The couple's little girl toddled around in the area near them. Intermittently, the girl would stop and ask her mother a question, the details of which were usually inaudible over the general murmur of conversation. She was perhaps around two years old — not yet toilet trained, judging by the edge of a diaper poking up past the waistline of her pants, but talking well, and quite mobile.
Then, after walking back toward her parents and crawling onto her mother's lap, she grabbed the collar of her mother's V-neck sweater and pulled it down to expose the woman's full right breast to the entire crowd.
A room full of people suddenly found themselves looking back out the window, at the television hung in the corner, or at their newspaper with awkwardly feigned nonchalance.
Rather than pulling her sweater back up, however, the mother said something to her daughter, then cupped her breast in her hand, holding it out for the toddler, who latched on with her mouth, and began fondling the other breast with her hands while she snacked.
The father never stopped staring straight ahead.
"You know . . . I . . . just," began the guy standing behind me, near the door.
"No," interrupted his girlfriend, "If they're old enough to start asking for it, they're old enough to learn to use a damn sippy cup."
The couple's little girl toddled around in the area near them. Intermittently, the girl would stop and ask her mother a question, the details of which were usually inaudible over the general murmur of conversation. She was perhaps around two years old — not yet toilet trained, judging by the edge of a diaper poking up past the waistline of her pants, but talking well, and quite mobile.
Then, after walking back toward her parents and crawling onto her mother's lap, she grabbed the collar of her mother's V-neck sweater and pulled it down to expose the woman's full right breast to the entire crowd.
A room full of people suddenly found themselves looking back out the window, at the television hung in the corner, or at their newspaper with awkwardly feigned nonchalance.
Rather than pulling her sweater back up, however, the mother said something to her daughter, then cupped her breast in her hand, holding it out for the toddler, who latched on with her mouth, and began fondling the other breast with her hands while she snacked.
The father never stopped staring straight ahead.
"You know . . . I . . . just," began the guy standing behind me, near the door.
"No," interrupted his girlfriend, "If they're old enough to start asking for it, they're old enough to learn to use a damn sippy cup."