Tricky Business by Dave Barry

shriek. It was matched in volume by one from Sumo Mom, who fell to her knees and scooped her wailing child into her arms. He looked unhurt to Fay. She, on the other hand, felt as though she’d been stabbed with an ice pick.
    â€œWhat happened?” said the Tot-a-Rama instructor, scurrying over.
    â€œShe tried to bite my son!” said Sumo Mom, pointing at Estelle.
    â€œWe can’t have biting behavior in Tot-a-Rama,” the instructor told Fay.
    â€œMy daughter didn’t bite anybody,” said Fay. “In fact—”
    â€œShe tried to!” said Sumo Mom. “She was going to bite my son.”
    â€œWe cannot allow aggressive behavior that jeopardizes the physical well-being of our participants,” said the instructor.
    â€œBut what I’m telling you,” said Fay, “is that she didn’t—”
    â€œHuman bites are very dangerous,” said Sumo Mom. “My husband is a doctor.”
    â€œThen maybe he could sew your mouth shut,” said Fay.
    Sumo Mom was stunned speechless. The instructor was very displeased.
    â€œIf you and your daughter cannot interact within the parameters of the Tot-a-Rama paradigm,” she said, “then I’m afraid you will have to discontinue your participation.”
    â€œOK,” said Fay. “You bet. We’ll discontinue our participation in your paradigm. Although I sincerely doubt that you have a fucking clue what that word actually means.”
    Around the room, nine mommies emitted simultaneous gasps. Fay, holding Estelle, marched to the door, opened it, and marched out. Then, realizing she was barefoot, she reopened the door and reentered the classroom. The mommies, who had already begun buzzing, fell silent as Fay picked up her shoes and Estelle’s tiny sneakers, then left again. She heard the buzzing resume as she closed the door; she knew it would continue for days, maybe weeks.
    Still barefoot, Fay carried Estelle briskly through the rain across the parking lot to the Probe. She put Estelle into her car seat, made sure she had her juice cup and her little plastic dolls. Then she put on her shoes and slid behind the wheel. Then she put her face in her hands and cried.
    â€œMommy crying,” said Estelle.
    â€œMommy’s OK, honey,” sniffed Fay.
    â€œMommy OK,” said Estelle. “Crying.”
    â€œI’m not crying, honey,” said Fay, turning to give Estelle a big, fake smile.
    â€œSnow White,” said Estelle, holding up a little plastic Snow White doll. It was her favorite toy. She knew, even at age two, the basic story: The girl is beautiful, but sleeping. Then the handsome man comes. He kisses her! She wakes up! She’s happy! Forever! Or at least until she encounters a little plastic divorce-lawyer doll.
    â€œSnow White,” said Estelle again. “Sleeping. Man kiss.”
    â€œThat’s right, honey,” said Fay. “The man kisses her.” She fished a tissue out of her purse, blew her nose, then got her cell phone and called her mother.
    â€œHello?” said her mother.
    â€œHi, it’s me. Can you come over tonight? I’m sorry, but the ship is going out.”
    â€œIt’s going out? In this hurricane?”
    â€œYes. I called.”
    â€œWell, tell them you can’t go.”
    â€œMom, I have to go. It’s my job.”
    â€œWell, you should get a different job.”
    Fay sighed. “Mother, just please tell me if you can come over tonight, OK?”
    â€œOK, I’ll come over, so later on I can explain to Estelle that her mother was a crazy person who went out and got herself killed in a hurricane.”
    â€œThank you, Mother.”
    A silence. Fay, from years of experience, knew what her mother would bring up next. And, sure enough:
    â€œI talked to Maggie today.”
    Maggie was Fay’s younger and, in her mother’s view, ragingly perfect sister, with a perfect and highly successful