Stroller Madness

Dear Mothers of Manhattan,

This is a call for peace. I beg of you, please discontinue the use of your child's stroller as a lethal weapon when walking down the streets of our beloved city. Try to remember that the tiny human inside of that torpedo stroller is in fact fragile. I know that those of us, who value our feet, kneecaps and other viable body parts, would appreciate if you'd cease from driving your strollers like military tanks out for blood. Especially if you went with the doublewide seater.

Please don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that you've chosen to procreate and I will gladly give you extra time when boarding the bus, or checking out at the grocery store and I won't, not even for a second, cast a shred of judgment when your kid starts throwing a tantrum because I understand it's not your fault. No, dear Manhattan Mothers, I will not. All I ask is that you don't run me over on your way to Starbucks for your grande-skinny-no foam-extra hot-cinnamon dulce latte. (Inhale.) I've fractured many a toe to the fierce wheels of your child's transportation unit and quite frankly, I'm over it.

Not to mention today's strollers are equipped with 10 cup holders, off-road suspension and dual speakers for optimum sound quality. I'm sure I'll appreciate all of that when I have a bouncing, bundle of joy myself but until then, all I can think about is how much it hurts when you plow me over.

So again, I beg of you, please have mercy on me. I have enough post-traumatic stress to leave me quivering at even the sight of stroller.