Adding insult to injury!!

Where do I begin?. . .Ok, yesterday morning my dear husband kissed my goodbye while I was barely able to open my groggy eyes long enough to recognize him. Then he took off AGAIN to go ice fishing. (This is his new obsession.) I had known about it and accepted it, notwithstanding the fact that it would just make my long day with the kids even longer. However, when he called from the lake saying he was going in late to work (his fishing buddy is the boss's son and works with him), that is when I began to get irritated.
That irritation hightened quite a bit when he called me again around 2pm to say he would rather not come home for lunch as he had promised but that I might pick him up a Subway sandwich. . . oh, and while I'm there I could get one for myself too. (He's so considerate!) He said it would be easier. Now, easier for who? That was my question. The baby was asleep so I told him it may be awhile. That was alright because he wasn't too hungry yet. However, by the time she woke up he was STARVING!!
I figured I should go out to the grocery store while I was out with the kids anyway since we needed some things, but by this time it was almost 4pm, so I suggested I go to the store and then pick up the sandwiches for an early dinner. NO, he needed something NOW! (I will admit I am embellishing this story a bit to make my point and it doesn't give Dayne much credit. But you will soon see that this is of little importance in the grand sceme of things.)
So I loaded all the kids in the van and drove down to our favorite fast food joint, Subway. I pulled up to the drive-thu and was soon greeted by a voice that said, "Welcome to Subway. I have a long line inside and am the only person working, so you will have to come in." This was basically my worst nightmare, but I decided to shrug it off and tell the girl working (in my head, of course), "Ok, you asked for it."
We went inside where I found at least 10 (not embellishing) Mexicans (not descriminating) sitting around waiting for their patriarch to order all their sandwiches. As soon as the kids walked in one of the young men started oohing at how cute the kids were. And as you can guess, I tried to smile and act friendly but inside wanted to bear my teeth (in a motherly sort of way). I sat Dakotah, in her carseat, down on a nearby table and instructed the other two to sit down with her. They paid no attention to me, threw their coats off, and began investigating the whole place. Meanwhile an elderly couple came in and, like everyone else, thought the kids were sooo cute! (Isn't it just the worst when you are ticked at someone or a couple of someones who won't listen and then other people just think they are wonderful?!) If I called after Brooklyn to stay by me or sit down, the older gentleman would just say, "oh, she's just investigating." And what can you say to a nice grandpa when he smiles like that?!
By the time I got up to order a half hour had passed, the floor and garbage cans were cleaner than when we got there, and all the bags of chips were rearranged on the shelves. All I could think as I smiled and nodded at the nice old couple talking to me about their own great-grandchildren was, Dayne is going to hear about this!!
And now I come to the final blow. The "friendly" Mexicans began to get up to go but had to take a quick peak at the baby in the carseat. I watched in horror as one by one they gathered around her (at least 5 of them). Mind you, I'm not racist, but these were complete strangers! My motherly defenses were curling the corners of my mouth ready for any sign of a threat. Then the young man who had made the fuss when we came in turned to me and said, and I quote, "Is she your daughter or your granddaughter?"

(I pause here for dramatic effect.)

This is one of those moments where you look back and wish your second response had been your first. What I should have done was walk over and smack that kid right in his big mouth, but I guess I was too concerned at that moment with fighting back the tears that were burning in that spot right between your eyes and nose. I fought them back, though, and kept my composure. I got my sandwiches, got my kids, and got out of there. We went to Dayne's work and shared our "lunch" (it was now 5pm) and our story with him. I worked as hard as I could to make him feel my pain as I related to him what had happened to me, and, like the charming man that he is, he defended me, appologized, and helped bring my blood pressure down to a reasonable thump-thump.
We came home (after our shopping), watched Lost with Anne and Granger, and let the whole thing blow over. BUT. . . Should this kid ever show his face to me again. . . I may not be able to hold back the baracuda inside me.