Now that I’ve broken up with those narcissistic child haters over at F’d In Park Slope, I’ve decided to start a new neighborhood parenting association, which I’m thinking of calling Babies in Bars. Never mind that I haven’t been to a bar at night since Dorian’s in 1989. Fine, that’s a lie but it’s been a while. Or, that I can’t hold my liquor any better than this future academy-award winning (or posssibly drunk) viral video star. Parents need a drink way worse than you adult children!

It’s long been my contention that there’s a little disconnect between those who would like to bring your pampered pooches to the next Bocci tourney at Union Hall but who would deny the put-upon, sleep-deprived, hard-working breeders of Brooklyn the same privilege. Need I remind you people that we are raising your future,  the ones that are going to pay for YOUR FUCKING SOCIAL SECURITY (should it not be eliminated before then). Is it too much to ask for a little consideration for us, our bugaboos, and our sweet-cheeked little schmunchkins.

Babies In Bars will be there for you, promoting joint custodial arrangements whereby parents in need of a drink and some adult(ish) company can hit the bars at happy hour but promising to depart before 7pm. What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s not like anybody would actually give a drink to a toddler, right?

If you feel similarly, please consider joining my cause and staging a sit-in at the Double Windsor and all the other gin joints round these parts this coming Friday at 5pm (maybe 3:30 if you want to head straight from pickup). I won’t be there but I support you, people. In principle, anyway.