In an effort to look more twee, I went shopping in bococca, the charming collection of low buildings and doublewide strollers that comprise boerum hill, cobble hill, and carroll gardens. As I was trapped in the dressing room of a store that sells those awful Dansk clogs and Marc Jacobs dresses, trying to decide whether I was someone owned an embroidered cardigan of a fawn or a fish when I was interrupted by a baby (well, more accurately a toddler). I know it’s Brooklyn and I lose some of my right to be angry because I crossed a bridge into a breeder’s borough but when I say I was interrupted I don’t mean that my peace and quiet was disturbed, I mean that the curtain was pushed back and a toddler was standing there gawking at me. The child quickly ran out and I heard three or four adults who were “hanging out” with and not supervising said child laughing at the child’s antics. After her dressing room invasion, the child preceded to pick up several tightly wrapped hanky panky thongs and run circles around the store with them. Instead of disciplining, the entire store stopped to coo at this performance. The father of the child, probably a distant relation of Neal Pollack, not content with his child stealing his lime light then decided to pick up a couple thongs and make a few jokes about stealing them. Parent, child and entourage collected their laughs, left the store without buying anything and a slew of manhandled thongs in their wake. No one gawked or rushed to clean up because in bococa nothing says sexual enticement like the smell of jam hands and hipster parenting. A final note, upon leaving the store, the parent asked the child “what she wanted to do next?” the child screamed “I want to go to Target” and ran down the street, sadly not into on coming traffic.