I have met the devil, her name is Lauren. She is three.

On my flight this past evening, I met a hell-beast of a three-year-old named Lauren. I was in the window seat on the airplane, and she was in the middle. The aisle seat was a merry-go-round of the mother and father and a one year old brother named Joe Joe.

Now I HAVE a three year old daughter, I know what I’m up against generally, but I wasn’t expecting her. The first thing that should have tipped me off was that she was over three years old and still had a PACIFIER! What the hell? Well, I sat there, looking out the window, closing my eyes and doing whatever to basically ignore this child. But Lucifer cannot be ignored damnit. Lucifer must wreak havoc.

Let’s see, where to begin. Ahh yes, the tray table. The INSTANT she got on the plane she started messing with it, opening it up, bringing it down, closing it, opening it, kicking it with her feet, closing it with toys in it, opening it again, etc. etc. That was frustrating enough, but fortunately for me, she was like a rabid weasel on crystal meth. This allowed her to flail around in her seat, kicking me approximately 14,324 times. At least the tabulation was that high when I stopped counting.

You see, the mother never really secured the seatbelt… She had it empty enough for two dark lords to fit within. This allowed Lauren (The Dark Princess of Doom) to roll over, flop around, and do pretty much whatever else she needed to in order to enable her kicking me in the leg.

This was in addition to playing the “screech like hideous succubi at the top of her lungs and pretend she was playing horsie” game. Yes, she was supposed to be neighing like a horse. Instead, paint peeled off the cabin when she did it. Oh, her My Little Pony figures were named “Pinkie Pie” and “Butterscotch” in case you were wondering. Apparently, calling Pinkie Pie STINKY Pie is hilarious.

Anyway, at one point she was using a coloring book and her Mom was talking to her about what combinations of colors create what. Red and Blue make Purple, etc. Well, the girl asked what Yellow and Green made again, and my answer would have been… oh, yellowish-green. No, the mother says, “That’s Chartreuse” Chartreuse? Fucking Chartreuse? Your kid has a fucking pacifier, she can’t stop kicking me in the leg or releasing her demon screech and you are teaching her CHARTREUSE? What the fuck lady. Let’s get some priorities here.

This coupled with the fact that the lady never really got into the face of the kid to make her stop anything, she just asked nicely, in fact, she even asked for her to “please” stop some of the behavior. My kid would have been stuffed in the overhead compartment by then, and threatened with losing all Mickey privileges. But no. She asked “please.”

Satan was not born, he was made. And I realize how much of an angel MY three year old is. I miss her already.