⪧ We left our life in New York City to make a new one in Provence ⪦

May 7, 2012

On fire.

Picture this. New York. A restaurant. Two friends. One baby. (Insert below baby into story). Friend 1 tells gripping story of a new opportunity for his burgeoning photography career. Friend 2 is enticed. Baby is not (she doesn't know what is what yet). Friend 2 puts baby to her breast, pulling out a blue and white polka-dotted scarf - trying to be politely delicate (some people apparently find breastfeeding offensive). Friend 1 continues to tell his tale. He interrupts himself. "You are on fire," he inserts pretty calmly as he weaves the scarf out from baby/chair/breast/Friend 2. Friend 2 is smoking - literally. Scarf smoldering - almost in flames.

Here I was trying to be discreet and what happens? The scarf hiding the fact that I was breastfeeding ignites from the heat of the light bulbs behind my chair. All eyes on the smoke rising from behind my head and with the scarf yanked away...well, in the end, I hope it was a public campaign for the beauty of breastfeeding because discretion was out. The people at the restaurant didn't charge us for our meal and brought us plates of desserts. Baby let out just a few squawks, but remained very composed considering the danger she was in.


Marnie said...

YIKES!! Lucky you were not dining alone!

Amber said...

Wow, what a story! Glad the scarf was the only casualty.

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