I was holding Lil' Dude at a bus shelter and asked him if he wanted to sit down on the bench. He said yes. Two women were talking on either end of the three-seater, and their bags were on the ends of the bench, so I said, "Excuse me" and inserted Lil' Dude in the vacant middle seat. The older woman muttered something under her breath and, through gritted teeth, said to the younger one, "Take her picture."

I turned to her. "Sorry—why are you taking my picture?"

"You like to take it up the rear, don't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You take it up the rear. That's the only reason they let you stay on our land!" (Both women were First Nations.)

I was standing there, holding Lil' Dude's hands. The bizarre verbal assault continued. "You're a slut! When he grows up, he's going to want to have sex with you. You'll just spread it for anyone, won't you. You're not sorry for anything. We're taking your picture because we're sick of it. You're going to get deported! They're sick of it, too. Sending you back where you came from! Look at you! Cover yourself up! You slut!"

At that point I just picked up Lil' Dude and walked over to the bus stop a little ways away and waited for the bus to arrive.

When I recounted the story later that evening, my sweetie remarked, "Yeah, nothing says 'easy lay' like a knee brace."