I know you think it's weird that I stayed at your daughter's party. None of the other parents did. Not even the mother of that other allergic girl. And why was I picking up the food and reading the labels? How rude. What could be wrong with hot dogs or buns or chips or nacho cheese sauce or cake or ice cream? Your daughter really can't eat this cake? She'd really rather have a squashed cupcake from your bag? Well, OK.
Please let me help since I'm here anyway. I feel weird enough as it is making chitchat with the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who want to know which child is mine. She isn't shy, is she, ma'am? She seems fine. She doesn't even check in with you, and frankly, ma'am, you seem a bit uncomfortable, so why are you staying again?
Because. It's not about me or you. It's about the safety of a child.