Yes, I see that you have a kid. Yes, I see he is about the same age as one of mine. It doesn't mean that we have to be friends. It doesn't mean that we have anything (much) in common.
But your going to start something anyways, from the adjacent lunch table at Target.
I'm just trying to appease my three year old so I can run some errands lady. I don't feel like talking, especially not to you. I am a recruiter honey, I can tell within about twenty seconds if I like you, and I don't. I don't like you. I am sure that you are just fine, but I'm not interested. If you were a guy I met at a bar, I would not give you my number (even if I were single.)
You begin with the small talk. We live in the same general area. We both stay home. Then it comes out that you don't own a television, as a moral and ethical choice. I start to tell you about the Spongebob marathon we had last weekend, but stop myself, for fear I will give you a heart attack. You tell me how your three year old sleeps in your bed, and how you attribute all of his self confidence to your strict adherence to the principles of attachment parenting. Yay you. My baby sleeps in his crib. In his nursery. In a different room. You assume that I choose to stay at home with my kids because, like you, I cannot bare the thought of someone else "raising my kids." I interrupt you to inform you that my eldest son started daycare at 3 months.
Finally you begin to describe your latest dilemma. Your son is having a birthday in a few weeks. He wants a pinata. You do not believe in pinatas. Why? The candy? No, that can't be it, your feeding your child chicken nuggets, french fries and a slushie. No, you tell me, pinatas are terrible, because they are so violent. How does a mother explain to her three year old that it is okay to hit a cardboard creation in the shape of Elmo? Surely, our children will all be scared and emotionally crippled by the sight of kids beating Elmo with a stick. Your son worships Elmo (although clearly he has never seen him on the small screen, since of course, you do not own a TV.) Your boy could not possibly beat Elmo! In fact, you have left birthday parties for this reason, so your son will never have to witness such an atrocity!
I have grown quiet and I focus my attention on feeding Julian individual pieces of Evan's left over macaroni and cheese. I look for my escape. Julian's meltdown proves useful. I excuse myself. Yes so lovely to have met you. No, I don't come here often (lies!) Goodbye and good luck with the party.
Thank God she didn't ask me for my number.