He was talking a woman who were bra shopping, seemingly part of this jackass's party.
I made an annoyed face, re-tuned him out mostly and continued shopping. I forgot he was there until I heard the woman say, loudly and firmly: "Would you two knock it off? Seriously."
That kept him quiet for a few minutes, then he was at it again.
"44D," he said. "Those are some pretty big boobies. The D is the cup size."
"Yep," he said. "Those would be some big boobies, 44D. Can you imagine the size of those big boobies?"
I turned in his direction and rolled my eyes just as the women looked over at me.
"Knock it off," she said to him. "You have people rolling their eyes over here."
She left the bra zone and he shuffled behind her a few paces with the kid.
"I don't care," he grunted.
And then: My rage flood.
"Way to act around your son," I called to him.
"'s not my son," he grunted.
"Nice example," I said again.
He said something else about big boobies and I tried to explain that he was making "boobies" sound like something to snicker about -- except it came out sounding like I threw up 10 completely unrelated words all over the floor in front of baby bib overhauls. Then I escaped down an aisle to quickly text the story to Chuck, quiet my fury shakes and come up with 20 different things I could have said that would have been awesome.
In other news: Chuck had to hold me back from going outside to yell smart ass comments at our Nuisance Neighbor the other day. Like, literally hold me back.
I guess the moral here is that you can take the girl out of the bar, but you can't take the bar fight out of her.