So after I finished giving directions to some Frog yesterday who couldn't find Columbus Avenue in his Guide Routard ["because it's nowhere near here, mon vieux, this is Lexington Avenue."], I tried and failed to warn him about the Frog that had rolled up behind him. He turned smack into the side of the red Bugaboo, which was being pushed by the wife while the husband walked alongside. No harm, no foul, and he made a shocked, embarassed apology and went on his way. The Bugaboogers and I, meanwhile, were left to wait for the light together. So I said, lightheartedly, "And here, I just read in the paper that the problem was the Bugaboos running into the pedestrians."
Well, Dad kind of chuckles, but Mom snarls at me, "WHAT??" and starts shooting daggers out of her eyes. And suddenly, I'm forced into a no-win situation, where I either have to cut-n-run and be labeled a babbling street lunatic, or engage a stranger in far too long a conversation on a street corner. And it dawns on me that I don't have my kid or my Bugaboo, so she's already reading me as either another threat to her little genius or, at minimum, exactly the kind of child-free prick that totally unfair article was based on.
So to cut my losses, I just say, "There was that article the other day in the Times about Bugaboos..." and leave it at that. Dad chuckles again, but Mom is still pissed. Really pissed, so I just shrug and head off the other way. And then I think, "Damn, these Upper East Side Bugaboo people are some ornery critters."
Which is a roundabout way of saying that Dutch is right, too, that the problem of big strollers on the sidewalk has a lot to do with the parents who fall somewhere on the spectrum between "clueless/oblivious" and "raging snob with an outsized sense of entitlement who doesn't give a damn about the people around her who obviously [sic] can't afford an $800 stroller."