Another POV

Seattle's Real Underage Problem?  Clearly, Hanna Olson would not enjoy this blog either. 

Okay, y'all, let me break it down for you. 

First, it's not illegal to have a baby in a bar that has a distinct and seperate bar area.  Obviously, Will isn't all up in his Graco sitting on the bar next to your tequila shots and packs of Camels.  If there isn't a "No Minors" sign on the front door, your baby is in.  Wouldn't it be nice if there was some "No Assholes" policy that had to be abided in the same manner?

Now, I understand that you're not enjoying your PBR if my kid is screaming his face off next to you.  I'M not enjoying my wine if my kid is screaming his face off next to me, trust.  We're going to hightail it out of that joint as soon as this happens.  Or, one of us (and by one of us, I mean Tim) will be heading outside to calm the kid.  Now if only you could do the same for your drunk-off-his-ass friend who won't stop screaming during his pool game or hitting on me when I go to the loo. 

And seriously, let ME worry about the decibel level and the appropriateness of my kid watching you make a fool out of yourself after your third car bomb.  He's seen worse.

Also, consider the state of the parents of this city.  If stopping into Naked City for a beer during our Saturday evening walk helps keep us normal, sane and not-constantly-baby-talking parents, isn't this actually doing Seattle a service?   If not Seattle, then at least the folks that interact with us on an every day basis. 

Finally, if my baby is at a table next to you, chillaxing quietly in his Manny's onesie, among the dull roar of voices, the punk jukebox, and the clink of pint glasses, think about this.  My kid at 6 weeks is already cooler than you'll ever be.  True story.