Kids and dogs (and famous people!)

November 14, 7:51 AMNY Celebrity Surveillance ExaminerEmily Lloyd

Kids and dogs. Dogs and kids. Parents with kids. Parents with dogs and kids. Strollers. Kids in strollers with parents with dogs and other kids.

On any given weekend afternoon in the West Village, the already tourist-laden sidewalks (Magnolia cupcake, anyone?) are crawling with a superfluous number of kids and dogs. It's that seemingly harmless combination that I personally find maddening—one might even venture to say, disturbing. I can spot the cuddly combo from blocks away, a sight which instantly jumpstarts my annoyance alarm. "OMG—they're back!"

It's not that I don't like kids—they're adorable and amusing and "our future" and all that jazz. And it's not that I don't like dogs (likewise reasoning—without the future bit). It's just that this speed-walking Villager with a tendency to be in a hurry even when she's not in a hurry cannot handle the pairing of kids with dogs, especially when they're standing frozen in the middle of the miniscule walkway, gaping at me with those dinner-plate size eyes and barking/yipping/drooling/snarling (ok, mostly snarling)—and that's just talking about the kids.  Maybe it's the fact that I always seem to be weighed down with various parcels of -ish, scalding cup o' joe, cell phone, and oversized handbag, and for the sake of the kids, (It's for the kids, people! It's for the kids!) I'm really just trying not to knock them out en-route to my humble abode. Or maybe they're just in my way and I think that 'rents should take their kiddies and doggies to one of Bloomberg's award-winning parks and let 'em loose in greener pastures. At any rate … dogs and kids get to me in a rather absurd yet, I believe, understandably irritating manner.

Right about now you're thinking, "Hey—she told us there would be famous people in this article! Where's the juicy hook-up/scenester/forward-this-link-to-my-coworkers tie-in?" I'm getting there … So last weekend, I'm heading west on Charles in my customary bag-lady stance, and there are kids. And dogs. Everywhere. Single, sans-pet, and childless, I am a proverbial Waldo in a sea of kids and dogs and those awesome (heh) Euro tourists who I can likewise make out from the next avenue over. I take a glance toward the Broderick-Parker dwelling, as I always do, just in case SJP chooses to grace my presence. (Note: I said glance not gawk.) Low and behold: there is the gorgeous Sarah Jessica Parker in the flesh, with her cutie-pie offspring, bounding down the townhouse steps—WITH A DOG!

Suddenly, I love kids and dogs! Kids and dogs and SJP!

My zealous glee was short lived. Ms. Parker, little James Wilkie, and pup, were seconds later the target of a sidewalk assault like no kid-dog combo I had ever before seen. Snap-happy cameramen appeared out of thin air. Uber-cool foreigners magically lost their chic-ness: "Leuuuukkkkk! Eeetttzz Saraaa Jaaassseeekkkkaahh!" All those jaded, star-blind natives who allegedly make this town a celeb retreat (because after all, "We're New Yawkahs—we don't care.")? Instant fame-whores. Every last one of them. Pointing. Clicking. Whispering. Shouting. Barking. Crying. All in my way. All in poor SJP's way. And in her son's way. Even in her pooch's way! Of course, Ms. Parker took the high road: she pulled up James Wilkie's hoodie as to at least semi-shield him from the gawkers, clinched her dear doggy's leash, and politely made her way through the crowd—while balancing on four-inch heels, natch. Not that she had any choice but to walk on. After all, this is New York …