Mainline Moms congregate, they convene, they assemble. They seem to precipitate out of thin air, suddenly filling public space with fashionable diaper bags, posh strollers, Avent bottles, Table Topper®s, and blather about vacations, nannies, and accessories. And like most other packs of animals, they quickly forget that anybody else exists. They appropriate chairs, clog walkways with paraphernalia, talk louder and louder, and generally take over all available space like some living fluid that has been poured into a cafe. They lose all sense of decorum. They assume that everybody in the coffee shop or restaurant wants to hear about their privileged lives and shares their hyper-exaggerated opinions of their progeny. And if any of their offspring happen to be ambulatory, they let them range freely and widely. Again, apparently assuming that the rest of the world loves their children as much as they do. Anybody who doesn’t share their myopic, navel-gazing worldview, anybody who refuses to drink their Kool-Aid, is immediately and loudly vilified.
Mainline Moms dissipate much as they arrive, seemingly without warning or cause. Evidence of their having been there often clutters the tables and floors—disheveled chairs and tables, cheerios, wrappers, dirty plates and cups, half-eaten bottles of organic, vegan baby food.
While they frequently seem like nice enough people when alone, Mainline Moms are unbearable in packs. They are like manicured, botoxed, lifted, augmented, and liposuctioned hyenas.