 That peace would be short-lived, however, as I noticed a little boy
standing directly in front of our window. As I watched, a look of
concern came across his face and I saw a liquid stain spread across
the crotch of his shorts and make its way down his legs. The liquid
dripped off the hem of his shorts and saturated his socks.When he
was done, he apparently thought that this was no excuse not to have
a good time. After all, there was a giant yellow slide attached to a
blue and red spaceship right in front of him!
He ran, stiff-legged, toward the flight of plastic stairs in the
manner of someone who was trying to keep cold pants away from his
sensitive parts. His socks made little wet footprints on his way,
and his pants dripped a trail similar to the bread crumbs left by
Hansel and Gretel. His mother would have no trouble finding him, I
thought.
The idea of all the other children following him up those stairs,
into the spaceship and down the yellow slide (which would be
considerably more slippery) made me a little queasy.
Then I noticed that my youngest child had finished his food and
was starting to climb the stairs. We waved, knocked on the window
and gestured frantically, but of course, he didn't see or hear us.
We abandoned our food -- we couldn't eat it anyway -- and ran out
the playground door. Our panicked faces probably startled many
french fry-gobbling patrons as they looked around for the fire.
We reached the playground just in time to keep our other two
children from going up the stairs and stepping in the yellow puddles
with their bare feet.
The youngest, however, was already at the top. There was no sign
of the wet child either, so he must be at the top too -- no doubt
enjoying his fantasy of flying through some celestial nebula in his
wet pants.
[to top of second column]
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 I hoped to get my child to come down the slide before the wet
kid, but I knew he wouldn't hear me. Being in a plastic spaceship
with a bazillion other kids is like being three feet from the amps
at a rock concert. I am long past the size and weight to climb those
plastic steps -- even if I wanted to. So I did the only thing I
could do under the circumstances. I walked, gingerly, over to the
tube slide, avoiding the yellow puddles, and bellowed into it.
"Come down here ..." OOF!
Someone came down the slide and rammed full-force into my leg. It
was the kid with the weak bladder. Unfortunately, he was still
trying to keep his soggy pants away from his body, so his legs were
apart and they straddled my leg when we collided. Oh ... my ... gawd!
Now my jeans had been baptized as well.
His mother finally collared him with a regretful smile in my
direction. I sent a weak smile back and shook my pant leg a little
... as if that would help.
Now that the slide was also contaminated, I quickly turned to
call up the tube so as to prevent my child from coming down that
way.
Just as I opened my mouth, I got kicked in the stomach by him.
For some reason, he decided to come down the slide on his back with
his feet in the air.
Disgusted, we walked back to the car. I hobbled, stiff-legged, to
keep my wet pants away from my body.
Honestly, those fast-food restaurants should provide showers and
a change of clothes.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books. |
