the nerve!

I just can't get over the nerve of some people...who shall, for the time being, remain nameless. A youngish woman author (first time novelist, regular contributor -- on contract! -- to Vogue) i interviewed and wrote about (but never met in person) for the Bedford newspaper met with me for the first time. she brought her children with her. that was fine. we agreed to meet at Scoops for ice cream. what was not so fine was how she let her kid (covered in chocolate and of course she was insufficiently supplied with napkins being that the au pair, who would have remembered to grab enough had quit), take a nice healthy leak on Bedford Road 50 feet from the library. Which has a bathroom, of course. "It's ok, he's 3," she said, somewhat defensively. inside the building (at last), she proceeded to tell me how she prefers immigrant help ("they work harder,") with her kids, that she can either "write or work out" (is this an excuse for being 30 pounds overweight?) and that because she writes very slowly, very painstakingly, she must be a better writer than me. "How do people in town feel about you being a sex writer?" she asked, finding it hard to believe that the local paper's columnist and Bedford magazine contributor wouldn't be run out of town on a rail should anyone figure out that she is the author of 8 books on sex tips. Should i delete her number from my phone....or ask her to blurb me when i write my own semi-made-up book?