We should probably get this clear right off the bat…

I am not above pinching my children.

Hard.

Yes, I can see that you are on a date of some sort, and I, for one, am simply thrilled- thrilled- that your many hours of cyber-wooing paid off in the form of a real live girl willing to suffer through your 15 minute monologues on the joy of whatever it is that jerks your chain these days while partaking of the super-swanky “2 can eat for $20″ meal spread across the table before you…

And, yes, I understand that my child’s high pitched laughter, born of the joy of having a brother whose pre-appetizer performance consists of sticking a straw up his nose, isn’t always considered a delightful sound to someone without children such as yourself…

But if you send so much as one more dirty look in my direction…

I am not above pinching my children.

And moving their chairs closer in order for you to be upfront and center for a drama-filled toddler breakdown, complete with mountains of snot, rivers of tears, and the occasional stomp and/or kick or two.

Hell, I’m not even certain that I’m above having them fling said snot and tears at you and your nifty metr0-sexual pre-ripped jeans while your date and her cute shoes look on in sheer horror.

So how about we stop all this mess before it starts…

I’ll get back to the second act of the illustrious straw-up-the-nose performance now in progress…

My children can get back to being children as children ought…

And you?

You can walk away from this whole experience snot-free and (perhaps) wise enough to recognize the perils of dining in any restaurant that serves crayons with their menus.

M’kay?