Aw the park. A ritual signaling that Winter has once again bowed down to the blossoming of Spring. Where children can roam freely, giggling and skipping away while exploring new heights and fears. Whether it's the monkey bars for the first time or the tallest slide that was just too high last year, children come from every walk of life to the park. There is no fee, there is no dress code, only laughter and equality.
You happen to have stumbled upon my park this evening. A park where women smoke freely as the walk around ever section of the friggin thing puffing away like dragons blowing smoke in my poor child's face. Or where couples, who frankly, I don't think were suppose to be a couple, hence meeting at a park to hide their "couplehood," scream curse words and foul language while resting on a nearby bench. Where one mother, perched atop the play area (moi) leans over and gives the stink eye until the lovebirds get the hint that it's not "bring your profanity to the park day," and leave. No, my park is one of merry go rounds that have evidently exceeded some one's thresh hold limit as there was an upchucked lunch covering one whole side. Where people don't care, and go about their merry go rounding as if the chunks will just fly off and everything will be fine. Or maybe, perhaps, just cover it with wood chips and problem solved, your little child can still climb aboard the ride and squeal with delight.
Yes, my park is one special place to be, and seeing that it's only March, I have so many, many months for the park patrons to give my child second hand smoke, a bit of cursing lessons, and perhaps a communicable disease if we are lucky. I can only hope to make it to the park across town this Spring, where I hear used condoms are buried treasures in the sand. What fun that will be.
And FYI: She left this very park for her new one....
Earning My Punishments
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