Bass-Playing Busybody

To the over-booklearned, underexperienced and clearly opinionated sharing a ride on the Metro Transit bus with my husband and daughter: you had no business asking for my daughter's name then throwing it into my husband's face while asking rhetorically if he thought it might be inappropriate to answer her question. She'd asked about tequila (she's 8, not the most sheltered kid on the planet but only because we don't bullshit her about anything), and my husband was explaining how it's made. You decided that that was not an appropriate topic for my husband and daughter to discuss and made a point of butting in and pissing off my husband to justify your posing rage. I'm not surprised that you'd choose such an obvious mark for whatever gender-studies-induced hatred or self-righteous indignation you wanted to spill onto the scene. We discuss a wide range of things with our child - on a level she can understand and tolerate - because she's a curious kid and because engaging her tends to encourage curiosity. Were I there, that would be the first part of my extensive telling-off to someone clearly lacking in either real-world experience or in parenting. Heaven forbid that a father and daughter might discuss basic chemistry on a bus. Far worse conversations take place on Metro Transit buses - save your huffing for the snogging teenagers or the gangsta-wannabe screaming expletives into his Smartphone. —P.O.'d Parental Unit