Oh, the play date! It’s always so nice when a mother arrives at my doorstep to drop off her adorable, sweet, freshly scrubbed, shiny, little child. At any given time after that, it is likely, said child will mutate into Linda Blair in The Exorcist complete with demonic possession, projectile vomiting, and joint defying head spins as my husband and I stay cowering in our bedroom, hoping that the children are having fun, and trying to have as little as possible to do with it, if they are not.
I was thinking of creating an award for Worst Play Date Ever. One dilemma was whether to grant this award to the child for making the play date so especially horrific, or to the parent who had to endure it. Anyway, without further ado, I’d like to introduce the nominees:
Anthony: I am, what my husband calls, directionally challenged. The words Alternate Route hold no appeal for me. In fact, I’d rather go 10 miles out of my way then risk getting lost. It is especially nerve wracking when a passenger suggests a different path when I am en route. And it is even more nerve wracking when that someone is an 8 year old boy who has spent the better part of the afternoon explaining to me how my suggestions for fun and entertainment were neither fun nor entertaining.
After explaining to this boy that I would not be taking his route and why, he than suggested I drop him off at random corners, presumably in an attempt to have me arrested for child neglect. Oh, Reader, was I tempted!!
I finally blew up at Anthony right before depositing him at his door step. It’s alway nice when you send them home with tears in their eyes.
Hannah: I’m really great with a wrench. I mean, after getting through the hard part, which is actually getting the wrench to fit around the nut, it’s all righty tighty, lefty loosey from there. Of course there comes the part during turning when you realize that the left has become right and the right has become left and the damn thing doesn’t appear to be getting any tighter at all…but I digress!
So there I am, on the sidewalk, mini-skirt strategically arranged, sweating through my mascara, wrench in hand trying to tighten the training wheels on our Play Date’s bike. Her Royal Highness herself walks up, her 7 year old form towering above mine and says, “Uh…can I ride my bike already?”
Abbey: But it’s probably Abbey who absolutely takes the prize. This is a girl who decided her afternoon’s entertainment would be to extract my daughter’s loose tooth from her mouth in every nauseatingly disgusting, unsanitary manner possible. I finally asked the girls if they’d like to take a break from the afternoon’s festivities to go out for frozen yogurt, (you know, one of those places where you pay for yogurt BY THE OUNCE??).
I’m sure you know where this is going. Within seconds Abbey’s cup overfloweth with frozen yogurt and, much to my horror, she continued the atrocity by adding Sno-Caps by the shovelful. She then proceeded to sit down with her mountain of gluttony, take two bites, and ask “Can we go to Carl’s Jr. now?”
photo credit: mommyish.com