G and I are at the 7-11, getting snacks for her Friday movie night. At the cash register, she sees a singing stuffed lion left over from Valentine's Day and exclaims over how cute it is.
Guy Who Owns the 7-11: You want to buy it? I give you a very good price.
Me: Oh, no thanks! We already have way too many animals at home.
Guy Who Owns the 7-11: Ha ha! You have lots of animals at home, and (pointing to G) you have one here too!
Me (politely, even though I think this is a rather offensive remark): Ha ha.
Guy Who Owns the 7-11: When you come back, I give you a very good price on the lion!
G: Can we come back tomorrow and get it, Mom? Can we?
Me: No, baby, we don't need it.
G: But --!
Me: Time to go!
We go outside and get into the car, G still talking about the lion and asking why we can't come back for it. As I'm putting the key in the ignition, there's a tap on the window. I look up, and there's a short, scruffy, slightly demented-looking guy standing right outside, eating what appears to be a chili dog in a cardboard tray. I roll my window down a little bit, figuring I can always back up over his foot if he bothers me.
Demented-Looking Guy: We've been doing surveillance all night, and you were the best mom. You passed the mom test.
Me: Um, thanks.
Having said his piece, the demented-looking guy strolls away, still eating his chili dog, and prepares to cross an eight-lane boulevard outside the crosswalk and against the light.
G: Who was that?
Me: That was a crazy man.
The embarrassing part? I actually felt a warm glow of pride at the comment. Apparently I am insecure enough about my parenting to accept validation from anyone, even a chili-dog-eating weirdo at the convenience store. Oh well.