This morning I was mauled by a pack of wild children while attempting to board the T.
All this time I'd been fearfully conscious of potential gangbangers, psychotic homeless people and nutters in general (yesterday a guy started barking at me on the Orange Line), when I really should have been on the lookout for knee-high fetuses in matching LL Bean slickers.
I had no sooner stepped foot into the already-crowded Red Line train, headed towards Alewife during the 9 a.m. morning commute, when I was knocked aside by a rat pack of screaming, ugly (yes, I said it), ill-behaved children. As they pushed into me, I stumbled forward, spilling the contents of my bag all over the wet, dirty T floor and cringing as I watched my just-purchased bottle of milk roll down the aisle away from me. Before I could even get my footing and right myself, their mother rammed me from behind with a stroller carrying a mini version of my remorseless attackers.
True story.
