After today's baseball foray, we headed to Noodles for some nosh.  (I actually don't like the word "nosh." Especially don't like "noshing."  Just trying it out here to make sure.)

Anyway, we sat next to an older white hetero couple who looked as if they'd just been at church.  Go God!

When they were finished eating, the man approached our table.  "Excuse me," he said.  "I just wanted to say that you look like such a nice, clean-cut family."

"Well, thank you," we smiled.

"His hair is nice and short," he said, pointing at Shef, "and you don't have any tattoos. That I can see, anyway."

I wondered at this point if Dan planned to show him his two tatts, but he didn't.

"You just look so very nice," he said, gesturing at the baseball hats and making a nice comment about Mac that I can't recall.

"We're All-American!" I proclaimed.

He smiled and walked away.  The guy seemed nice, but I was bothered by the idea that I couldn't be a good, nice mom if I weren't white, sporty, and piercing-free.  We couldn't be All-American if we weren't "Clean Cut," in this guy's estimation.

"Wow," I said to Dan.  "We just got mistaken for republicans."

"I was totally thinking that," he said.