Whose fault is it? Let's seeeeee....

I was standing in an interminable line at the license bureau. I was shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to keep my cool.

There was woman there wearing scads of Ralph Lauren, lovely pearls, perfectly coiffed hair-- which in Midwestern humidity is quite a feat.

Two adorable little boys were there too. Thick blonde hair, cut in that cute little preppy style. Seersucker shorts. Izod shirts.

They were the loudest, most obnoxious little hellions I have seen in a month of Sundays-- ever since the lamented youthgroup incident.

They lay on the incredibly filthy floor and rolled around looking for a quarter that supposedly rolled under the Pepsi machine. Their hands turned black. The smaller one had an off-center Hitler mustache from the grime. The older one ran up and down the line holding on to the velveteen rope that created lanes for all of us poor saps waiting for the next available clerk and pulling the dividers over. Their mother kept calling them over and they laughed and completely ignored her. Over and over again. I heard their incredibly preppy little names over and over again and their little demonic laughs as they did WHATEVER THE HELL they wanted. She asked this little one five times to come over so she could clean his grimy little mug.

I finally had enough. Being a mom, I dug in my purse for the kleenex dispenser. I pulled out two, and the next time the smallest demon prince zipped by, I said, "Here, sweetie, wouldn't you like this? And ooh, you could use it to clean your face. Let's see you try it!" and the little blister actually took the kleenex and wiped at his face. The mother turned around and gaped at me. I said to her, "Now's the time to grab him," and she came out of the fog and did it. It was a miracle. Right at that moment, the clerk finished the airhead's paperwork, she dragged her two little monsters out, and the older gentleman in front of me insisted I go ahead of him.

I've seen kids like this before. And this will be the only time I will ever reference Paris Hilton in this blog.

Behind every Paris Hilton, there is some idiot parent who has no interest in treating their children as anything but fashion accessories or breathing dress-up dolls.