Thus far, my plan has worked. Of course, my mom doesn't just let me have my bottle and wheel me over to the park in the footie pajamas I wore the night before dribbled with whatever didn't make it to my mouth. You know why? Because we have a little something called class.
Yesterday, my mom and I decided to go to the bigger park at the center of our neighborhood, rather than the one closest to home. There's a little more shade, a sprinkler for hot days and better people watching in general.
I was pretty impressed by the mom-covery on the woman next to us with her two daughters but that was pretty much where the adoration ended. She, her mini-me five year and her two year old (who totally had hand, foot and mouth disease and should have been quarantined) were all still in their pajamas. It was clear they hadn't brushed their hair or teeth yet, too.
 |
| Cool look, kid. Are you headed to brunch at Bistro Campagne when you're finished swinging? |
Look, we're all excited about the park. We all want to beat the rest of the neighborhood to the choicest swings. We all know that after 10am, it is going to get too hot to hang at the playground. But we're trying to have a society, here.
I'm not asking anyone to put on makeup or even shower, but I think something besides oversized flannel pants with cows jumping over the moon might be in order in public. Personally, I plan to save that look for 2030, when I'm a college freshman.
No comments:
Post a Comment