She slinked into Simone’s and waited at the hostess stand, a Gucci leash dangling from her manicured hand. The Silky Terrier attached to it promptly sat down, inches from her alligator slingbacks, head bouncing like a bobble toy.

Seconds behind her, a boy, he had to be at least 5 or 6, crawled in and proceeded to circle them both, occasionally roaring. The dirt on the bottom of his pink Crocs clear evidence he was bipedal. The dog merely looked away.

She clocked us staring from the bar. “Don’t mind my Jasper.” She fluttered her unleashed hand. “He’s having a Simba day.”

“Not sure that’s king of the jungle footwear,” Becca said.

“Seriously? I am so sick of people judging my son for wearing pink. We’re raising him to be gender neutral.”

“No problem with that, love.” Becca raised her vermouth. “Here’s to gender neutrality. And more power to you for training your pet better than your child. But, I just wonder. Don’t you think we parents should draw a line, uhm, somewhere?”

“And where would that be?” she asked, as Jasper tried to lick the hostess’s leg. “Table for two, please.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s start with Crocs.”