I am beyond disgusted with these people who complain about kids in restaurants, stores, and the general public. You know the ones I’m talking about—the ones who think that kids are not people, but little creatures to be controlled, perhaps tethered to a leash, and perhaps “seen but not heard.” They’re usually hipsters, self-absorbed singletons, or crotchety old people who never had kids.

And you know what? There is nothing wrong with being any of these people. If you are any of these people, more power to you—but you know what? More power to my kid and all other kids, too. They are people. They have every right to exist as you do, every right to be anywhere that you do (save for venues strictly for people over 18, for obvious reasons). And you know what? As annoying as you might think they are, they are children—meaning that you were once one of them, by the way—and they don’t have nearly as much control over their actions as you do yet.

So what the hell is your excuse?

Yes, I’m talking to you—you hipsters, self-absorbed singletons, and crotchety old people who are loud and obnoxious at the library, at the DMV, and in your group get-togethers at the restaurant. Here we are, my little trio and me, trying to enjoy ourselves or get through the day—usually quietly; my daughter is an only child and, as often is the case with only children, tends to act more grown-up than many of the so-called adults who surround us—when you come along with your loud, “outside” voices and your margarita-induced hysterical laughter and your “unwinding” in public. Not only do you monopolize the staff, making our service slower, our food colder, our drinks watered down; you also ruin the entire atmosphere for the rest of the restaurant.

My kid’s “bad behavior” in a restaurant—which, at worst, is climbing under the table to sit with her dad for a while, or refusing to eat, or dropping her crayons—is freaking Fifth Avenue etiquette compared to your ridiculousness and “unwinding.” And it’s not an isolated event, either; every time we’re anywhere—the shoe store, the mall, the pool, the park—there’s always a group of adults (drunk or not) carrying on and being stupid—perhaps acting like children, as some people might say, though I would maintain that such a statement is way too complimentary—while we’re just trying to enjoy our day.

Are we silly, too? Sure, when it’s appropriate—and pretty much at least half the time we are at home. We tickle fight, have foam sword fights, howl like coyotes, finger paint, talk in goofy voices. And we might even do this in public, but not to the extent to where we are infringing upon you and your friend who can’t stop cursing or talking about sex, or your loud coworker with the nasally laugh.

Believe me, if you hear a mom singing to her toddler to keep him under control—and perhaps from throwing your stupid latte in your smug face as you loudly chat on your stupid iPhone while the cashier attempts to give you your change; I sure want to, myself—know that it’s not even in the ballpark of your obnoxiousness.

And I suppose you have every right to be.

But if you do, so does my kid.