But when someone decides to talk to me for ten minutes about how cute my child is, I feel my limits are being pushed.
As with most talkers, he had no intention of actually communicating any information. I know this because Baby actually tried to talk to him, and since Baby's conversation starters generally consist of
he was completely confused and instead, because he had the compulsive need to talk, just kept saying how cute Baby was, in slightly different ways, over and over and over again.
It took an unusual number of avoided eye contacts and one-word answers, but he finally got the hint and left. To the other side of the car, where he began talking to another stranger about how cute my child was
and then topped it off like a stupid alcoholic cherry with the remark "That guy, though. Kinda sinister, like maybe he's not really his dad, y'know?"
Because the only reason I wouldn't want to make small talk endlessly with such an exceptional conversationalist was if I had abducted a child.
The rest of the trip was, for me, an exercise in acting natural, since apparently this doesn't come naturally to me.
“Many things--such as loving, going to sleep, or behaving unaffectedly--are done worst when we try hardest to do them.” --C. S. Lewis
When I got off the train with Baby in the stroller a couple of stations later, of course this man got off at the same station and we made eye contact on the platform.
Without even meaning to, I sent him a glare that said
He started, and looked down after only a millisecond of that glare. But after that, believe me, I kept that glare on him until I had completely walked past.
Because I may be kinda sinister, but I am Baby's father.