I’ve never encountered a sock freak (thankfully). But on one sunny spring afternoon some time ago, pulling my daughter home in her wagon, I had a man march up to me and say, “YOU are wearing a hat, why isn’t she?”

Maybe because she kept pulling her hat off and throwing it to the side, and I got tired of stopping and going after it for the twentieth time, and because we were only a couple of minutes away from home, that’s why.

But why bother saying all that? I just ignored him and kept going.

Busybodies involve themselves when it’s pretty apparent that there’s no actual danger involved. They don’t actually care about the welfare of the children, they just want the opportunity to bully and intimidate another person. So ignore them and keep doing what you’re doing.

I learned my sock, shoe and coat lesson early on with my oldest child. Of course, now that my kids don’t leave the house without being properly bundled (because It’s easier for me, I WILL confront the loud stage whisperers, but I’d rather avoid it) I get busybodies telling me my kids must be too hot, or that they should be wearing sandals instead of sneakers.

It seems like you just can’t win.

“Oh, my God! Do you see that?!” a shrill woman’s voice called from behind as I waited with child in arms. “That child does not have socks!” Though I could not see the woman, I had no doubt that the child to whom she referred belonged to me. Being that the vestibule was heated to no less that a thousand degrees, I could only assume the woman suffered from Post Traumatic Sock Syndrome, so I let her snide comment slide. And her second. And third. By the time the woman delivered her 13th asshole comment, her voice that reached octaves not heard since my husband got hit in the balls by an errant line drive. Ultimately, my refusal to acknowledge her ultimately drove her to whip herself into a frenzy until she screamed, in front of a now mesmerized crowd, “What kind of mother would let her son go without socks!!!”

Unable to resist further, I turned to her and casually explained, “The kind that wanted a girl.”

And that’s when the woman totally and utterly imploded and exploded, all at the same time. “CALL SECURITY! SOMEONE CALL SECURITY! THAT BOY IS BEING ABUSED!” And so help me God, if Security didn’t come charging after me! They didn’t catch me, of course. It’s amazing how fast a mother can bolt through a parking lot when she fears her son might be taken from her.

Looking back, when I recall my mother speeding out of the parking lot with my son insecurely strapped onto my lap in the front seat, I thought, “Oh yeah. That come back is a keeper.”