Baby talk

We had friends visit from out of town this past weekend -- an old buddy of Jason's and his wife. I'd met the wife once before and didn't think much of her, and having her in my house for 2 days reinforced 1) my initial opinion of her, and 2) my utter abhorence of baby talk. This woman never met a perfectly harmless sentence that she couldn't make unbearable by her sing-songy inflection, accompanied by a jutting lower lip and batted eyelashes. She doesn't need to make this kind of play -- she's an accomplished surgeon, well-educated, active, etc. But for some reason, she feels compelled to speak as if she were a helpless child, and her husband eats it up, much to my (and Jason's) chagrin.

My reaction (near-vomiting every time she spoke) reminded me of one of my parents' favorite stories about me as a tot. I don't remember this, but apparently when I was about 2, we were living in Caracas, Venezuela, and belonged to a swim club in our neighborhood. A woman who knew us came up to me and asked me in a very baby-talky way where my parents were. I fixed her with a cold look and told her to piss off (or something to that effect).

Now, don't get me wrong -- I don't condone young kids lipping off to adults or being disrespectful, and if a child of mine ever did something like that, there would be hell to pay. But a big part of me gives props to my two-year-old self for refusing to be talked to like a moron.