It was approximately five seconds later that a woman donning Catherine Zeta Jones’ Chicago wig sat down, spread eagle, and broke up a frosty cold bottle of vodka. Admittedly, I have not been on the train in quite some time, but I chalked this up to a fluke. After all, it was only 6:45 on a Monday night. But then I changed to the Blue Line, and a man toting two full garbage bags of cans came clanking on, leaving a trail of fluid behind.
Dinner was perfect: we sat outside and each had a cocktail, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think how this would have gone had I decided to schlep “Birdie” with me. In fact, I got off at the Aquarium stop--a stop, I suppose, is frequented by moms, dads, nannies, and too many children to count. How is this going to play out when I become one of those moms in the not too distant future?
My friend and I parted ways around nine, and back onto the train I went. This time, a little more conscious of my surroundings; perhaps a little too nervous and nit-picky at my fellow passengers, or so I thought...
The train quickly filled up, empty seats wasted by backpacks, doors closed, we started moving. A man loudly announced to an innocent bystander that he was going to “teach him a lesson” tonight. We made a stop; the car filled even more. I tried to mind my own business, stare straight ahead of me. Looking up, I abruptly found myself in front of a man’s crotch--him standing, me sitting (you get the picture). Literally, I couldn’t get off that train fast enough.
Look, by the time she can take it all in, Birdie’s not going to see a prostitute, she’ll see a wig she wants for dress-up. We’ll teach her about recycling, so the man with cans is just a responsible do-gooder. So, as that nervous new Boston Mama, I turn to you (again!): when did you first bring your child on the T, and how do you deal with the surroundings?