Monday with Pictures. Do Not Kiss My Child!

So we were doing the weekly shop. Smallest Boy was sitting in the trolley, snarl of tights clutched in his hand and sucking his thumb. 

Cute as all hell.  I am his mother and allowed to say that, right?

I am packing the groceries and the lady bagger starts to chat to Smallest Boy.

He is putting on his one hundred per cent wattage charm, little milk teeth flashing behind his thumb.  A total flirt. 

Like I said, cute as all hell.

“Do you give kisses?  Can I have one?”

My hand freezes over the doggy treats. I can’t help it.  I turn around a smile of sorts, plastered on my face.  I think my teeth were clamped together.

“He only has kisses for me.”  Translation: you are a total stranger.  Do not try to kiss my child.

Just.

Don’t.

“Ah, go on.  Give us a kiss.”

Even covered in his own bodily fluids, I cannot resist kissing Smallest Boy.  But as his adoring mother, I don’t see those things.  Just full on cuteness.

I get that.

But what I don’t get is the way Certain Older Random Ladies feel the need to lay their hands on my child and threaten to kiss him.

Keep your mitts to yourself.

Thank you.

Smallest Boy was grinning up at her.  Delighted with himself and it looked like she was moving in.

Don’t do it.  Do not do it!

Just in the nick of time, Smallest Boy, still beaming away, held up his hand, and issued a strong, “Uh uh!” 

Translation (Mine):  Back off bitch!

That’s my little charmer.