This is why I don't understand why there are places I can't bring my dog, but people can bring their babies anywhere- my dog was potty-trained at 8 months, while that baby is going to be pooping itself for at least another year.

EXACTLY! Although the kid isn't to blame, of course. Those parents should be sent back for reeducation.

That is sick! I would never change my toddler's diapers on ANY table anywhere EXCEPT on a changing table at home. And certainly I would never do so in front of other people, muchless other people who are eating! And if I were (and have been) in that situation, my girl would have to wait in her soggy nappies until we got home (unless there were a specific baby-changing station in the bathroom). Sick, sick and so selfish!

What was most amazing to us -- aside from the fact that she did it at all -- was her total lack of interest in anyone's needs but her own. You pay a lot for the pastries at La Durée...best that you don't hurl before you've even paid your tab.

I have absolutely no problem w/ breastfeeding in public. But what comes out the other end is best taken care of privately.

So we see that such foolishness is not limited to America. Maybe there is something to that sci-fi premise after all: that the supply of intelligence is limited, and only diluted by the appearance of more people.

Why do you think no one stopped her at the onset of activities?

Ah, ze French are so -- how you say? --sophisticated, no?

It's a wonder nobody comp-lained to a waiter, måitre d' or manager. Or said to the woman, at a volume sure to be heard throughout the cafe, "Will you please cover up your baby's shit -- we're trying to eat, here, preferably in Franch." Then standing and singing La Marsellaise, just in case.

While the idea of catching a spare morsel of infant poo poo on my table isn't exactly a settling thought, children still don't make my eyes swell up and clog my nose with rivers of mucous quite like our canine friends have a habit of doing.

Ah, but unlike much of society, it seems, I gave that some thought when choosing a breed of dog. Yorkies have hair (like humans), not fur. You'd be more likely to come down with an allergy to somebody's e-coli-dispenser of a child.

Rad, in the Global Village, boorish assholes know no boundaries.

...and it takes a village to raise...
eh, forget it.

Amy, the only thing wrong with the photograph is that Gregg took it from his seat instead of doing a close up. Had I been in that situation, I would have got up & taken the picture right in front of the baby's ass, *caca* included. Maybe this inconsiderate couple would have got the message. I also would have raised immediate hell with Ladurée manager & refused to pay *l'addition*.

Frania W.

Quite right, Frania. I just wish I'd known -- I had a great shot of their faces.

I can't believe the gall.

I never thought the world revolved around me and my babies.
Yipes.

I feel sorry for the poor kids being raised by these dopes.

I can't believe the Gaul, Dierdre.

Now I have to shed extra tears for the poor ozones that were killed so Amy could experience this bit of French Sophistication. And no, you would never see such a spectacle in the USA, in the UK, or in the home of any other Coalition Partner.

Can't we at least turn this into a pissing match between the genders?

When a guy leaves his baby sitting in the baby-toter on the counter at the Post Office, forgets the kid, and walks out to the street while counting a fistful of stamps, it's evidence of a fundamental masculine disinterest in the earliest years of life.

When a woman plops a microbiologically-horrific, diapered child onto the countertop at Starbucks while opening her change purse (or pulls a stunt like this one in France), she's showing a fundamentally feminine arrogance about the magnificence of her own fecundity: "Look! I'm FERTILE. An entirely new carbon unit exists because of my own sturdy (if mundane) evolutionary fitness. And nothing about this, no matter how smelly, is inappropriate for the most sophisicated contexts, be they dietary or intellectual!"

I prefer the masculine error. Kids can be returned, while their shit has to be dealt with.

PS- I don't get pissed about women breastfeeding in public, but in general, the rack should be kept on the wall.

What I REALLY want to know is how you and boyfriend seem to live half your lives in a foreign country. Are these the perks of journalism???

My thinking is, figure out what you want, then figure out how to make it happen. For example, July is the most expensive time to fly here; February is the least. I fly Priceline or last minute flights in February, pay with my United Miles card, get double or triples miles, and have enough FF miles to fly free in July. Also, I know the best times to get a FF ticket are literally a year in advance -- to the minute -- ie, 12:01 am -- or at the very last minute. It costs me about $127 each way to fly here -- but only because I didn't want to risk smuggling my microdoggie on an FF ticket.

Then, it's cheaper to stay for a month in a moderate apartment than a week in a cheap hotel. We buy stuff at the markets -- much cheaper to live an ordinary life here than in the States...and eat out for a nice dinner maybe once a week...and have a croissant or a coffee at a cafe a few times a week.

Also, while we rented the place of a friend of a friend due to my assistant woes commanding so much of my energy this year, I have traded my place in the past with other journos who either know people I know or who have been checked out by my friend Emily (and have sent their friends in LA to check me and my place out).

It doesn't take money, just knowing what you want and having a desire to make it happen. It's the same way I syndicated my own column when all the syndicators told me I'd never make a dime. Creators syndicates me now.

Oh, and PS, I'm on deadline right now, printing my assistant's notes on my rough drafts for this week on a portable HP 450ci printer. I call her to talk about it on a phone card, but I'm going to get Skype, I think, after my deadline. About 2 cents a minute, I think, to non-Skype users, and free to Skypers. (It's over the Internet calling.) And now, back to my regularly scheduled Tuesday pain and suffering. (It's Tuesday here now, 5am.)

Say that again, about the year-in-advance thing. (T/P&S will always be there waiting!)

Turds, Paris & Shit?

Tuesday Pain & Suffering! I don't understand about cashing FF miles precisely a year in advance.

Oh...right. Right there, right now, TP&S.

Regarding the FF miles -- you can get those seats only a year in advance. The seats go fast. A minute after midnight.

That seems like a lot of trouble to go through just to sit next to a bunch of poopy-diaper-changers. I can arrange a comparable experience for you for a lot less money, but it may involve actual cattle instead of smelly Frenchies.

If the appeal is about the foreign country, I'm sure there are restaurants in Mexico where you can have a meal without somebody coming in and dropping a turd on the next table.

Those Europeans are so sophisticated.

The point is, IT HAPPENS EVERYWHERE, not, wow, what a great opportunity for Richard to show off his xenophobia. The other point is, class and money do not go hand in (butt-wiping) hand. One of the classiest people I've ever met in France is a 70-something cabinetmaker who doesn't eat in cafes because he can't afford it.

Amy, I genuinely appreciate your travel-savvy advice. And the bit about "figure out what you want, then figure out how to make it happen". I want to get my masters in electrical engineering and work to make solar and wind power a viable part of the energy grid. There, I said it. For the first time, on Amy Alkon's blog....

IT HAPPENS EVERYWHERE

Actually, no, it doesn't.

GACK!

Well, in the past two months, I've witnessed it personally in Venice, CA, and Paris, France. Perhaps in the place where they have you strapped down, Richard, they only smear it on the walls.

Diana, I like you. Search my blog for "wind" -- I think I posted a good story on it from the IHT. Denmark, I think.

Now Amy, you're growing irrational again. You admitted that some scruffy hippies in seedy Venice used a bench to change a baby's wet diapers, whereas the Froggies essentially dropped a turd on a white table cloth in a fancy establishment.

These things aren't the same at all.

It's just so delicious that you witnessed this atrocity in your darling France and you're struggling to keep your head from exploding.

'Perhaps in the place where they have you strapped down, Richard, they only smear it on the walls.' Perfect!

Perfectly bitter.